Carolina Girls: Best In the World

Survival Mode
Carolina Girls: Best In the World
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I’m just gonna jump into it because I drove up to New Jersey about a month ago to visit my bestfriend and it was…amazing. OMG I had so much fun doing absolutely nothing but being with her. I came back to life like the Grinch, my heart grew three sizes that day. Ahh this is terrifying. Why can’t life be like The Vampire Diaries where I can dissociate and turn my emotions off (I mean…it can be, but I don’t want to exist that way.)

Fun aside from that visit actually–she introduced me to some of her friends from the area, which is always amusing because they don’t know about her gymnastics background, and a bunch of the men were doing a dumbbell workout (totally “showing off” in just such an amusing array of attempted masculinity). They showed her what to do and then were SHOCKED when she just broke out the whole workout, hitting every skill, mastering technique, and doing so with the same dumbbells they were using. I was sitting on these bar stools at the time, amused as hell, loving the emasculation. When I first meet people, especially a group I’m being introduced to, I’m usually fairly quiet, I like to observe, people watch, mentally become aware of behaviors and energy and learn about them. The men migrated near me and started playing basketball on a small hoop like the ones men hang up in corporate offices or your high school teachers posted above the garbage cans, at one point.

I can’t recall the exact context, but one of them looked at me sitting and watching them and went “I’m sure the amount of testosterone in the room is intimidating” and I said, very calmly, “I think we have different baselines for what “too much testosterone” is”.

Hahahahaha. I have never seen men take a step back and be so amused, not offended, and concede immediate respect in one moment. 

Back to my lil intro, I just wanna give all of my friends and the people currently in my life a huge shout out lately. Whether it’s my internet pals, like Nikki and Stephen (@wittyidiot), my chosen family, my actual sister, and my incredibly diverse and insanely interesting array of humans I get to call my support network. I’ve felt so much love lately, and I think I was actually able to finally accept love because I learned how to actually see it, because they taught me how to trust it. How to trust myself. And they believed in me. They were and are patient with me. They recognize the way I light up their souls, the room, the planet. 

I wanted to switch into entertainment because I realized the thing I value most about myself–with all of my ridiculous skills, from sewing (which translated great from the seat cushions we learned how to make in Girl Scouts to closing up Mohs surgery scars with the precision of a plastic surgeon), to animals (sometimes it’s easier to learn how to ask for love after you see a dog do it), to disease and health (a holistic, educated approach that takes into account the boundaries of western medicine), to childcare (and YEARS of experience as a babysitter across multiple familial dynamics, continents, and parenting styles)–was that I wanted to be helpful in any situation. I wanted to have the answers–or at least know where to look for them. 

When I consider the idea of “setting up a life for myself”, my answer always comes back to wanting to be the person who could help my friends in any way possible. Apparently this is a testament to being an ~Aquarius~ (to all you nonbelievers). This was my draw to medicine as well–I wanted to be helpful, and it was the most tangible and direct way for me to do so. But how many people can’t ask for help? Like I couldn’t/can’t/still struggle with? How many people can’t afford healthcare? How many people can barely afford life

I wanted a way to be there for people that transcends the boundaries of direct communication–because I knew all too well I wouldn’t always physically be available. I knew that sometimes it was easier and necessary to learn the framing you needed impersonally. That topics like the ones I cover are often dark as fuck, and will get that much darker, and not everyone can fathom sitting through and watching me talk about them–but it doesn’t mean they don’t want to listen. As someone who struggles to express emotion publicly, I get it.

There are different types of loneliness, but feeling like there is no mutual understanding for your mind is perhaps the worst of all. 

My friend Amanda, who has recorded a few episodes with me, sent me a highlighted passage from a book that covered the idea that she was scared nobody would ever actually understand her. She said she used to think like that and now she thinks I’m that person for her. I literally burst into happy tears when she sent me that. And what are friends for if not to reassure you that you’re worthy of the love you don’t think you deserve, that you’re scared to want, that you’re terrified to need. 

My friends have shown me so much patience and love over the years, but especially these past few months, that I think it’s important to remind everyone that “control” isn’t “love”. You should have a support network that embraces and loves you and lets you share your version of love with the world. That cultivates and strengthens your version of healthy love–especially for those of us who grew up in abusive households. My friends have always been my escape, my happiness, my understanding. I want to create a life that continues and allows me to be there for them in ways that they know and can understand that I’m here for them to rely on as much or as little as they need. I’ll always be here. 

Writing allows me to do that. It allows me to impact and be there for the people who might not have anybody in their physical life who gets them…yet. It allows me to share my education, which is the PURPOSE of education. Not everyone can or will have access to formal education. Even amongst those who do have access to formal education, some people have to get it through places like Clemson or FSU or even worse…Duke. (LOL…just kidding…kinda.) Not everything needs to be so elitist you have to achieve XYZ goal BEFORE you feel “worth something”. Ya’ll (myself included) suck Nike’s child and prison labor corporate bullshit’s dick, yet won’t “just do it”? 

When I say “entertainment is overvalued” I mean “people shouldn’t be able to make and have millions of dollars for abstract work while communities and vital roles that allow others to do such abstract, creative work are so drastically underpaid”. That’s not the entertainment industry’s fault, though. And I don’t think we should really continue to perpetuate such pathetic excuses for entertainment that someone like Jake and Logan Paul are so monumentally influential for doing absolutely nothing of value. That sporting industries should endorse violence and head trauma and society should embrace and allow such shitty behavior to be so financially profitable. We are positively reinforcing horrific examples for behavioral growth within the USA yet then wonder why people are struggling and why societal values are in such a terrifying dichotomy under a 2 party political system that we pretend can and should be allowed to represent a multicultural nation. All of those decisions ultimately come down to the lack of progressive reform for workers rights, distribution of wealth, restrictions regarding lobbying for multinational corporations, and universal healthcare. Celebrities and wealthy individuals can pay their way out of accountability within the court system, since penalties aren’t based around percentages (and they hire teams of lawyers to avoid everything, including taxes, anyways), and who can blame them because our prison systems are cages, not “reformatory” in any way. I’m very obviously a “public school kid”. 

I also think it’s amusing when people assume I don’t have friends because I don’t post them on my social media as much as I post my frothingly witty commentary. Maybe that’s on me, and I truly think I go out of my way so they all know what they mean to me…but I still want to make it a point to be better at vocalizing it. I think not sharing that side of me is a way for me to not accidentally overstep other’s boundaries–because I care about my friends and I AM private with intimacy of its various forms. I’m private about love. But is that because I’m scared to share it? To express what it means to me, lest it not be reciprocated or perceived in the way I intend it? 

So a few of these episodes are going to be love ballads, centered around my friendships

We ALL have Daddy Issues, this is a Patriarchy (Remember)… (8:10)

Particularly as a woman, my female friendships represent my ability to love. Even when I’m single, and intimately celibate (basically always), I’ve never questioned whether the absence of a partner at my side diminished my worth. And as women, especially as conventionally attractive women (read: white ethnocentric beauty standards), you have people ask why you aren’t dating someone ALL THE TIME. A lot of young women are taught they need to make decisions around the ideal scenario for a future partner, an IMAGINARY FIGURE, with the implied heteronormative context. By all means, if you have a suitable candidate able to express his emotions and be a PARTNER, sign me up. I shall share the enthusiasm of that Grandma from the end of Mulan. Love is a battlefield and I’m obviously geared up for war, all the time.

This past month, I realized I have never once doubted that the “right” person for me was out there because I have such a strong support network of friendships, many of whom live across the entirety of the USA. And I’ve cultivated those relationships through years of living together and apart. I never feel the need to rush through life because I am happy and loved. I’ve never worried about whether or not I would be a good wife, or “partner”, in part because I spent 4 years living with one of my best friends from a tier of female counterparts that are the reason I can love myself so much–because they’ve showed me what deep, meaningful love really is.They’ve ALWAYS been there to show me what love is (my childhood best friend remains and will always be one of the largest support figures in my life and I’ll hopefully get the time in life to cover all of the people I love, in no particular order.)

And I think a lot of men are deterred by the idea of being “friendzoned”, which is just sad to me because you should want the emotional love of friendships, especially those with women. 

Women aren’t more “emotionally manipulative” just because you’re “emotionally incompetent”–we just live in a society where we’ve been expected to put on facades for who we are that “society” deems “acceptable” and are good at playing those roles. We’ve been thrown into costumes since childhood. Make up allows people to craft new identities with their mood. Hell, you can even sign up for significant plastic surgery for making your body more visually appealing for others because the GOP will only regulate it when someone wants to change their body for themselves.

But nobody seems to connect that to the reality that our natural selves are taught to not be the preferred self we put forth into the world.

We are naturally gifted with emotional intelligence, and psychological sciences, as a result. 

One of my favorite people, we’ll call him “Venus” (because I play tennis with him and he likes space) is a surgeon who went to Yale for undergrad. Every time I visit him, he shares his friends with me, who are as equally as wonderful of a collection of humans, and he introduced me to what a silent disco is recently. We’re the same age, and as my friends are a pretty wide range of ages, I get to ask him whether he’s ever pressured to “settle down”. His undergrad bestfriend and he both told me that topic literally never comes up. It never feels rushed. It doesn’t seem like his worth diminishes with age, or even reproductive value. It made me realize that women are taught our whole lives to place the emotions, considerations, and priorities of others before themselves. Men are allowed, from childhood, to largely believe and trust that they can prioritize themselves without fear of that. 

However, in doing so, we cripple men by making them think they have to be the providers, they have to be an “alpha”, they have to know the answers, be silent, strong, and resilient all the time. By always being allowed to prioritize themselves, by their worth not being tied or related to the presence or absence of another, it can sometimes be a struggle to place the emotions, boundaries, and consent of others above yourself. 

This is where the patriarchy fails men. 

We have a modern day society in the USA that essentially only allows them to express emotion through sport, so they CLING to sport, the only place they aren’t shamed for expression of it, and often center their friendships around it–while also playing a game pretending they’re managing all of these famous celebrities who can just like, throw a ball really well. Which is cool and all, but please stop centering your personalities around pretending to be in control of humans via fantasy football because instead of just telling your male friends you love them, you need a thinly veiled excuse of football to have a “reason” to come together and spend time together every week that your potentially stereotypically demanding spouse may deem as “acceptable” because “boys will be boys”. As if you should need a reason to be allowed to have friends?

By the way, if your boyfriend’s favorite player is Tom Brady, he just wants to be allowed to cry in public and love his family and still be respected by the “manliest of men”.

(More of an Eli Manning gal myself, personally. Which I’m now realizing is a testament for Strider not being so gifted with words but very gifted at his craft and familial strength.)

This is why female friendships are so superior. Male friendships are (typically, not universally) centered around being there for each other in the easy moments. You don’t need the words. It’s grunting and physical expression and being content without explanation–stoicism. Women share EVERYTHING. It’s why they’re allowed to be “gossipy”. It’s why women have served in warfare throughout history in unconventional roles, or been MASSIVE serial killers because it was difficult if not impossible to divorce abusive husbands (and why the USA continues to frame sexwork as illegal, because not doing so would make it that much more difficult to dehumanize other country’s cultures and continue to justify that warfare and violence).

Women ask questions.

They reveal details, even those which are intimate.

They disrupt the status quo of a society centered around men in power. 

The only time you should be worried about the things you share is if you question the character of the person doing the sharing. 

And then I think you have to ask yourself if you’re actually worried because of them, or if because the way you talk about people, the intention behind it, is flawed yourself. If you aren’t phased by accountability, if you don’t understand or like yourself, if you’re terrified of not always having the ability to have control, then I think it’s scary. Because you’re worried about what people will say. 

You should never have to worry about what the people you love have to say about you.

There is NOTHING more strong than a female friendship, because for women, those are often the only, or first, people there who choose to love you and understand the shared struggles of the world you live in. Especially if you weren’t really allowed to be friends with boys, or when jealous girls growing up made a lot of assumptions since you played on the football team (I mean I did send one of them nudes but so what), and did fall ball baseball, so being friends with guys always comes with insistent pestering that there must be some underlying narrative other than maybe men ALSO just needed additional love and support. 

Maybe that human is a cool fucking person regardless of their gender or biological sex and you want them in your life. 

And because female friendships often aren’t burdened by the assumption of reproductive beneficiaries, with family and friends asking whether or not anything has “ever happened”, or what they’re “missing” (which is just a very rude narrative, by the way) we are allowed to love each other freely and openly and not being romantically attracted to someone doesn’t mean they’re “missing” something. To confess our worries and fears and share everything because the presumption of society is so and we’ve been allowed to. We’re even allowed to make out with each other, sexually experiment, and people still don’t label you as “gay” with implied negative connotation. (#HeteroflexibilityShouldBeTheDefault)

The simplicity offered in male friendships is cool, but your emotional connection can’t be dependent on solely your partner. And I think a lot of male-female friendships struggle because men feel ties to the possible physical attraction, combined with that novelty of ease of emotional intimacy and the space to be yourself that female friendships often have to offer, without actually considering whether the pairing would make a good partnership. Whether you want the same things in life. Whether you value happiness, love, and marriage in similar contexts. Whether you approach life in ways that complement each other. 

Never forget to tell the people who mean the world to you how you actually feel.

Never withhold establishing healthy boundaries centered on your own needs, either, because healthy love won’t judge you for it. 

I never really worry about the presence of a partner at my side, even when I’m lonely, because I have some absolutely amazing, phenomenal friendships. I also credit my friendships for forming my unconventional family—my actual support network—which I don’t receive from emotionally unavailable parents. 

My relationship with my sister is also slowly improving, and we talked about how hard it is to recognize that your parents don’t really care enough to worry about you. They divorced and checked out and decided they were done caring about the past, so they never consider the way it still affects you. They can’t… that would retraumatize them. And their own journeys towards self acceptance and happiness are valid. Who am I to tell my mom she isn’t allowed to be happy and make decisions for herself after 24 years married to a narcissist who tells the whole world you cheated, yet I have very few memories of my parents actually together because they didn’t ENJOY being together. Or how my memories of them are plagued with mental visuals of my dad just screaming at all of us, berating us for our emotions, mocking us for crying, ridiculing us for CARING, and my mom got it worst of all. I didn’t ever want to learn to cook because it reminded me that my family’s kitchen wasn’t a happy place to be. The knives remind me of my brother chasing me through the house, kicking down my door, and my mom not believing me because I was being “so dramatic”. The family dinners recalled being interrupted, laughed at, when I tried to tell a story. The kitchen was a physical crescendo for harm. My mom’s dowry of a $250k house on 4 acres of a 75 acre horse farm outside Washington, D.C., with my biological dad’s own aeronautical engineering pursuits within the DoD and her dad being a Colonel working out of the Pentagon made it the perfect “in”. Logically, you should’ve married her. But you didn’t “love” her. You don’t know how to “love”. Nobody blames you. Life was different then. She seemed good enough. The internet wasn’t commonplace. You didn’t know what you needed in reality. Your parents used to force you to eat liver and if you didn’t like it, they beat the shit out of you until you ate.

Some people you just don’t want in your life because you don’t like who they are and don’t like anything they bring to your life.

It sucks when that is someone who is supposedly genetically predisposed to loving you unconditionally who won’t re-learn the ways he chose to survive.

There’s a difference between “surviving” and “thriving”. 

My friends have shown me the love my parents couldn’t give to me. And it makes me really uncomfortable to have acknowledged with my sister that I could have disappeared for weeks on end and been missing or dead on my solo treks in the Appalachian Trail and nobody would’ve looked for me for a while. Maybe that’s why I like true crime so much, because I’m aware of my own close encounters with death, and even if that were to occur, my presence can live on through my words. (For writers, this is even almost a perk/awareness that death often brings larger acknowledgment…This is not an invitation to kill me.)

So I want to write about the greatest loves of my life to date, my friendships. The people who really know me. The ones I know will exist for however many years they walk on this earth with me. The ones I’ve never doubted, who help me learn how to accept love and bring me strength even when I’m seemingly alone. The relationships that matter most.

All Aboard The Hot Mess Express (20:15)

Carolina is a part of me. We are just intertwined, magically. It’s hard to explain to people, but let’s just say when her fiancé was with us, he knew to get in the backseat and to inform me of how he was keeping “my girl” safe. 

My sister tells me she never doubted she wanted to go to college, because she heard all of my stories about me and Carolina and she just “wanted that!” Which is honestly a sentiment that has brought me so much pride, because Carolina and I blossomed in our independence through education and as Michelle Obama says

 “Education is power.”

I actually forget that Carolina is EXTREMELY shy, because she is a heathenous psychopath who I love with my entire being, and I apologize to all within the Carolina community at UNC Chapel Hill for the events I’m about to share. LOL but especially my “dad”/mentor who was the Vice Chancellor for the duration of my years there.

My friendship with Carolina started at a club gymnastics away meet at Virginia Tech. I hitched a ride, basically for the chance to see my friend John who was in ROTC there, and to party at another college, and in said partying, ended up three way kissing with Carolina and our other friend, Zan. Carolina and I both liked Zan so we had a mini feud off, but also were like “oh what the hell, might as well”.

Turns out, Carolina is a much better kisser than Zan.

Zan just slid his tongue side by side like a snake and Carolina and I went into the bathroom to discuss the tongue thing and nicknamed him the “snake” and when he overheard or picked up on it, we told him it was because he was “so suave and slithery” hahahahahahaha. He totally embraced it and kept referencing it himself and we were just reminded of his tongue darting back and forth. A true foundation for a beautiful friendship to come. 

This was freshman year, when I was so homesick I wasn’t sure if I would end up staying. Carolina is my version of “Stitch”, sent to wreak havoc in the form of love and chaos in my world…although I am arguably a bit weirder, so I think we just switch between the two frequently and fulfill that role for each other. (#BiIRL)

Everyone we met assumed we lived together, because Carolina slept over in my twin dorm bed so often. We’d end up partying most nights of the week and it was most convenient for us to just crash at my home, where the bus dropped us off. My actual roommate really liked the alone time to a degree, and was a night owl, so I don’t think she minded. I also think it was good for her to see such a shit show behind the scenes, too. 

Carolina’s also what started my obsession with “The Vampire Diaries” from the CW. If you enjoy anything similar to Game of Thrones and want another feminist, fantasy lore / period piece (because, flashbacks, duh), go watch it. It’s available on Netflix and covers addiction, racism, difficult familial relationships, dissociation, death in ways that are easier to deal with because it’s framed in reference to mythological creatures.

Carolina was REALLY into vampires and once tried to bite herself to see because, logically, “you don’t know until you try it”.

I mean, she’s not wrong…

Freshman year, we went out probably 5-6 nights a week to different house parties, bars, and fraternities even though I never really talked to anyone other than Carolina, nor did we ever typically have a “plan”. We called ourselves the Hot Mess Express and if you’ve ever partied with gymnasts, it’s wild. Acrobatics were the norm. Thus, when you’re drunk, they’re fun party tricks. And Carolina loved to do her aerials. Since I could shake my ass, we soon had guy friends from these fraternities who would ASK us to come to their parties so the athletes would stay and dance. We had zero interest in hooking up with any of them, and went home with each other at the end of the night, but it was pretty fun. I guess I didn’t realize how notorious we were on campus at the time. 

I pieced it together playing cornhole with Carolina and her fiance when I visited them recently. I never felt any competition towards her, even with Zan, because I knew I would still have her. I don’t really feel competition towards women in general, because I never really had to “compete” against them. I played mostly male dominated sports, baseball and football, my teenage years. I switched to softball just to go to states one year, but none of the women I was close with ever felt like “competition”. I wanted them to win. If not me, then hopefully one of my friends who I knew and felt was actually a good person. 

I was raised to compete with men, not with women. I had “She’s the Man” to set the scene for me. 

When my competitive drive kicks in, it’s not even because I want to see myself win. 

It’s mainly because I want to see men lose

And I only do it if they get cocky. I avoid competition when possible, but I won’t shy away from it when it’s presented on a silver platter. And Carolina is one motherfucking hostess. 

We spent entire nights commanding the beer pong tables at fraternities, even betting men who wanted second or third attempts to defeat us into giving us the clothing off of their backs. This isn’t a joke, and it happened more than once. At several different fraternities. 

Carolina could drink her weight in alcohol, any kind, and I was always the more sober one, but damn were we a terrifyingly coordinated train wreck. Dancing was great because it burned off the otherwise “empty” calories, moving your body feels good, and it keeps you more “sober” (distracted). So we danced as we played, no matter who our opponents were, we were having fun because of each other. I have no doubt it was magnetic, alluring. 

Colleges often have rappers come to the fraternities, too. And if you’re pretty, you meet them all. (This isn’t a flex, and they’re easy to fuck so it’s more impressive to not expose yourself to the STD, but it is cool to point out.) We saw Troop 41 and did the John Wall, Afroman smoked weed in the room in front of us (I didn’t smoke yet, so I didn’t want to), only one of the Ying Yang Twins came to little frat court’s party because the other was in jail, my sister’s friend went back to Waka Flocka’s hotel room and claims they “didn’t” hook up to her fraternity boyfriend after her phone “died” and she slept over, this girl from UF used to talk about fucking G-Eazy like his name doesn’t have the word “easy” in it… you name it. 

Carolina and I did all this and experienced college together, having each other’s backs. I’ve never particularly cared what people I didn’t respect thought of me, and I think that was good for Carolina, who had somewhat tried to assimilate. She’s the Aubrey Plaza of my life, and I love her for it. I think, as similar to a “cat” as I may be (when you first meet me at least…she’s a cat person, so naturally she loved me) that I’m actually a golden retriever in our friendship (and her fiance is the golden retriever of her soon-to-be marriage). We both love her so much we just like spending time together.  

We created a “Battleshots” game and can no longer fathom the smell of Raspberry burnette’s because the handle we got made me completely hate vodka for a while there. (I’d bet every single group of college girls has one particular burnette’s flavor that they HATE.)

We spent weeks going through a kleptomaniac phase. Many girls go through this. It’s the inherent desire around being able to talk your way out of something. We never did it to anyone other than men, and to be fair it started because someone took Carolina’s jacket out of a fraternity and as the last girls there, we ended up going home with a much nicer black jacket by “God’s fate”. So when I got my new and properly functioning TI-84 for physics out of the Chi Psi library while Carolina did an aerial into a bookcase (distraction) and bruised her hip, we just took it as a sign from fate that we went a step too far and calmed the antics.

The boys on our (my) dorm’s floor actually made it a game to see if we could steal their shit. GREAT for us, by the way. Also easy pickings. We waited until they were asleep, knowing they never locked their doors, and took all their shit while they were laying there alone. They dared us to, they couldn’t complain. 

Don’t engage in competitions you aren’t willing to lose next time. 

We also once spent an entire night going around and telling people it was her 20th birthday and we needed 20 articles of clothing. We made out for some of the items, but men taking off their boxers and handing them to us was just a power trip all around. The ease of it.

We walked home with arms loaded.

On the topic of Chi Psi—that poor fraternity. One time we showed up (it wasn’t a costume party but we were coming from one elsewhere) in feathered bras with whipped cream canisters, went to their dance floor, just gave people random shots of whipped cream and left when they were empty. 

We had entire RANDOM fraternity composites in our dorm room over two miles away because we’d walk home. We’d just walk into random houses we didn’t even like drinking or partying at (usually because of the general awareness and forewarnings from women that you’d get QB sneaked) and take them.

We ended up giving them back and making sure they were safe, it was just fun for us to make the men feel somewhat uncomfortable and to eventually find out it wasn’t rivalry between the adjacent house, it was two unaffiliated mayhem wreckers. 

Chaos is a ladder and we were monkeys in a barrel forming our own.

My sister once visited UNC her senior year of high school when I was trying to make running happen (I didn’t go out because of a meet and wanting to not drink most of that year), and I woke up to her and Carolina snickering to themselves, bringing home handfuls of items and 3 fraternity composites which are ~4’ long frames. It was hilarious (at the time). 

The fraternity I was later sweetheart of had a guy who had hooked up with my sister that same weekend & waited for YEARS of friendship to tell me. Honestly, I was just glad that guy hadn’t thought it was me because my sister and I look like identical twins. I also pieced together that “little Asian Alvin’s” shoes (the way his brothers referenced him), which Carolina had borrowed to walk home in, was the Alvin I re-met years later in pharmacy school. 

One time Carolina and I walked into a fraternity’s cocktail party and the president, who was apparently sober, ended up offering to drive us home so he knew we’d get back safely. (AKA so he knew we wouldn’t return later that night.) I sent his fraternity a thank you card and they read it at chapter. Sorry to my friend Joe who the brothers found out lived on my floor.

It’s a tough world out here for us women, sober guys who take you home and don’t try to get anything from you while you’re blacked out are a rarity these days, and I wanted him to know I appreciated it.

Don’t tell me those attempts to get me into etiquette classes didn’t come in handy.

The first cocktail we went to, I found out I was invited on because the guy “thought I was innocent” (huge turn off, I obviously left with Carolina and don’t know why this guy thought that because I had TEETH MARKS on my neck from wrestling guy who I had met literally the night before and he asked what it was). Whilst crossing the street, leaving the party and making a dramatic, impromptu departure, Carolina stumbled, fell, and gave herself a black eye. It was nothing, though, we’ve both had much worse from gymnastics. On the P2P on the way home, she had her eyes covered and hair over her face like the girl from The Grudge she likes so much, and people kept asking if she was about to puke and I was so disinterested I’d tell them to mind their damn business and she was fine. I was loyally protecting her and preventing her from having to explain herself.

We’d go out, and she’d get drunk, but this girl was DEDICATED to her education. I got a facebook message one morning to bring her shoes to campus, because she walked from the house she slept over (again, virgin until now fiance, hadn’t really even touched a penis, just liked to make out a lot) and went to her 8 am class in the dress she wore out BAREFOOT because she couldn’t find her shoes. But fuck missing a class. (She had a 4.0 and is insanely smart.)

We’ve had other gal pals through the years but few who were equally loyal or didn’t feel insecure over our own bond that they really stuck around. (We’ve kept friends separately, but one or both of us have typically had “fallings out” (or just grew distant) with most of our other friends from this period who were the same age at least.) And I loved Carolina so much I didn’t even care about taking the “fall” for her, ever. No way would I ever sell her out.

I’m a real ride or die bitch, I just have anxiety so I might ask some questions about where we’re riding to.

I have no doubt it was a hard dynamic to feel confident in, but that’s not on us. We go out of our way to include, it’s just hard to keep up, and not everyone needs to be on the exact same tornado path of cyclonic havoc. 

One girl, who I knew from track, but who our swim team friends, track, club gym, and cheerleading teammates knew as “the girl who lied to so many of their teammates and slept with SO many people that she didn’t know what “loyalty” or “healthy” behavior was” and who, even with the slut shaming culture, there is no excusing how this girl would befriend all the women and then SEEK OUT to fuck their boyfriends or purposefully set sights in the males they were interested in and somehow thought we still owed her any kindness…? No. I mean I guess thank you for showing everyone that “not all men…but a lot of men” are shitty and didn’t deserve them? She had a threesome with two of my friends who are married now and tried to commit suicide and blamed it on my friend and her boyfriend. I know NOW that it’s mental health issues, but I watched two friends who were happy together, who are now married and have a wonderful life together, get blamed very publicly for someone else’s own insecurities–and the attempt to make other people feel bad about stuff they have no need to, their own happiness, is NOT the way to go about it. 

Carolina actually helped me realize that you could be an alcoholic and never be aggressive towards others. As drunk as she got, she never verbally or physically attacked me like my siblings had. We were idiots, but she loved me and I spoke her language (even at her drunkest–you know how moms can understand their toddler babbles?) and we always had each other’s backs.

So when this same aforementioned girl heard a rumor that I said she had chlamydia (it was Carolina, really, and Carolina didn’t SAY she had chlamydia, she remarked on how many of our mutual friends realized she lied to them prior to fucking them and was a pathological nymphomaniac who to this day does the same thing and has been engaged several times, and how lucky they were they hadn’t gotten chlamydia since they weren’t CAREFUL OR PRACTICING SAFE SEX), did I care to correct her? Absolutely not. I did not give a fuck if she thought I said it, and if it kept her from directing her anger to Carolina who am I to correct her? She got kicked off of every team because of “the drama” she caused with her teammates (which is pretty shitty for her because her coaches saw sexual promiscuity and removed her access to a regular sporting outlet and ability to “perform”). Sports Psychology really needs to step up its game and NCAA athletes, especially those who leave toxic home environments for perhaps the FIRST TIME, need access to resources and coaching staff who are aware of the reasons for behavior. And we shouldn’t punish people for it by further removing healthy forms of support. At the same time, there’s only so much empathy I can have when she befriended us then did the exact same thing to us (with Zan, actually). I know we have “savage” culture and whatnot, but our other friends from these teams KNEW that we saw her at practice and would ask us about the details she’d tell them and the spider web of made up stories was just phenomenal, truly. 

Don’t expect people who owe you no loyalty to lie for you. 

Don’t expect to lie and for it to not catch up to you, either.

This is why I don’t shy away from the dark. People are not “universally good”. Any suggestion otherwise is frankly, idiotic. Unrealistic. Unreasonable. I’m sure I will be answering for things I do the rest of my life. Women in power have to step down for revenge porn leaks of their nudes, yet senators and house reps can support and encourage an insurrection and remain instilled. I’d like to change that narrative. I refuse to be afraid of the story that created me. I can only go in with the best intentions and work on learning to frame my communication in a way that is ultimately beneficial and constructive to learning for the rest of my life. Sometimes that means overlooking the short term satisfaction, or “likeability”, and prioritizing long term reward. Sometimes that means reminding yourself that, as viewers, listeners, and onlookers, you don’t and may not be privy to the entire story. You don’t and can’t possibly understand all of the interwoven details. Maybe you impulsively jump the gun, project, get triggered over things you would’ve done differently without reminding yourself that you are different.

This realization was actually a tough reality for me recently, related to Strider, because something finally “clicked” and I realized I was expecting him to communicate in the way that I communicate instead of listening and perceiving what he was saying, knowing who he is, and communicating and learning together. 

It’s hard to figure out how to frame some of my life because of the difficulties in establishing a pseudonym, obscuring details that really prevent anyone outside of save maybe a handful of people who ACTUALLY know the private details (already) from being able to identify. I think this is when it’s important to step into nature and remind yourselves of how small humanity is in the grand scheme of “the Earth”. We are but a blip on the timeline. Pretending otherwise is egocentric. Why are we not using the little time we do have to positively influence the world–which you can’t do by pretending only the positives exist. That’s not what beneficial change is.

And how can you work towards change by denying the existence of the reality you want to change?

If the end goal and a pillar of education is to use the anecdotal narratives to highlight the cultural framework of these stories, how can I possibly avoid the topics that mean the most to me. I won’t slip rose colored glasses or a filter onto the realities of life. Rafiki damn told us “the past can hurt, but you can either learn from it or run from it” and most of society is so afraid of accountability that they won’t have these discussions, they’re avoiding them and just want to “move on”, or they associate negative repercussions with learning (because Albert Einstein was the one who said “it is a miracle that curiosity survives formal education” and the people who need access to the education the most are likely those who associate formal education with “failure” of variety, or “struggle”.) And people undeniably care a lot less without tailoring it for their entertainment value. I don’t really think we have the time or I have the energy to sugar coat who I am or what has shaped me, and I naturally speak just like I write. Satirical cynicism is second nature, by now.

I don’t want to be afraid of that. 

I don’t want to have to hide it. To be scared of its perception. 

HUMANITY IS A ZOO (39:19)

I view humanity in the way I view the Earth. (This perception has insurmountably helped my social anxiety reintegrating now that I’m fully vaccinated.) I attribute humanity to a simultaneous parallel to the entity of the biodiversity kingdom. So many species, changes, and markings. Are they venomous or poisonous? Is their natural predisposition aggression or are they gentle? Maybe some species are invasive and just not meant to intermingle. “Christianity” is arguably an invasive species in the USA, along with the entity of indigenous cultures globally because of its ties to colonialist expansion, so maybe viewing certain individuals and theories, not racial groups, in similar lighting is important for framing mentality. Humans can migrate–why else do we have travel developed in the way that we do. We need to accept and prepare and enable that safely, without condemning the so called “invasive” species that might’ve been dropped off by a jackass who thought a cute baby tiger would be a pet like the stuffed animals he was bought as a child, property to own, versus treating it like the whole ass spiritual entity that animals, mammals, and humans, are?

Humanity is weird, and this viewpoint may be weird (and historically has been used to justify racism), but evolutionary anthropology, much like the biological science work of Jane Goodall, studies animals to learn more about humans. It studies the historical context and development of the species. Approaches it with openness. 

Everything we “know” about humanity is ultimately just things we’ve collectively agreed “make sense”. Our language–just made up sounds that we share a mutual understanding around. The way we view the world is a long collection of knowledge regarding people, places, times, and interactions with the natural environment.

We study animals, plants, bacteria to learn ways to make sense of the world around us and ultimately explain humanity in relation to the rest of the world. We use echolocation and sonar based technologies in part because we observe and see how other species communicate. And that’s the reason our military intellect is so prestigious. It’s based on communication. So why have we overinflated the most competitive, alpha predator mentalities over embracing collaboration and love. Don’t make me start talking about bonobos and chimpanzees again, I hate thinking of anyone from Duke outside of a healthcare context.

I know ya’ll are like “this motha fucker is such a typical Aquarius” and maybe my connection to nature is just so strong that I’ve grown up loving and appreciating the various species, climates, terrain, and am just happy to learn what they have to teach me. I told someone I was spending my days soaking up the sun like the cold blooded reptile I am (or Sheryl Crow) and they were like “you’re so hard on yourself”–which is ONLY the case if you associate reptiles and being cold blooded with negativity? (There’s a place and environment for those, too, by the way. They’re quite useful and helpful.) It’s a fucking joke. I WAS happily and contently just tanning without thinking twice or viewing myself or mentality negatively. So annoying. 

Back to Carolina. (42:28)

Carolina might’ve been a shit show, but DAMN that girl was a champ.

She was a virgin until her current fiancé. I actually threw her a party when she had sex, complete with a card from Harris Teeter with a gold fist bump that said “pow” on it. Her fiancé told me he felt so proud of it and I said, “why… it had NO relation to you. It had EVERYTHING to do with her. It literally could have been anyone and I would’ve gotten her that regardless, because for HER, it was big.” She was arguably terrified of penii prior to him, and we even questioned whether she had repressed childhood memories (or if it was just good ole catholic guilt)— something I think a lot of women, especially, worry about.

And Carolina didn’t fuck with consent. That woman would march out of bars at the end of the night, unwilling to go home “empty handed”, choose a guy she thought was attractive, even if he was outside near the bus stop, go home, make out, turn on The Grudge (to “ruin the mood”), and just snuggle. She never wanted to fuck them, she wanted the company.

She’d always be there to remind me to “keep homeboy purely slampiece”

(I would never listen, unfortunately. Which is why I now literally don’t hook up or cross physical boundaries with anybody unless I’m interested in the idea of dating. Just not something I can do personally.)

I actually felt bad when I finally agreed to try smoking weed junior year, because Carolina had tried to get me to do it for EVER. Instead, I let my junior year boyfriend teach me in front of the fraternity I would later be sweetheart of, via a 2 foot bong. I’d done edibles in her presence, at least.

I’ve gone to every single familial event—her sister’s wedding, her mom’s second wedding, beach house extended family vacations. My mom got remarried privately, at the courthouse, and texted my siblings and I a group chat to inform us, so it was nice to have the opportunity to experience my “other mom” actually having a wedding. Her fiancé recognized how integrated I was into her family when I knew almost every person at her mom’s second wedding, and not many had met him (they actually asked if he was my fiancé). I can never thank her enough for being the family and love that I always needed. I honestly don’t know what I would’ve done without her.

And there was a time period when things weren’t really “good”, you know. But that’s what love is. You are entitled to a support system, and it doesn’t make you a burden to need certain things from your loved ones. Carolina and I just so happened to need each other perfectly, reciprocally, and were lucky enough to find each other.

Carolina was and is my version of what love is.

And I know her fiance is right for her because he loves her just as much as I do, in his own, albeit similar, way. (He is the “Andy” To Carolina’s “April” if this was Parks and Rec.) When she was depressed, I provided the love that I hope she clung to, or was always aware of, in some of those moments.

When she couldn’t see her own light, she was still undeniably mine.

She made my life better just by existing. 

We talked recently about lack of representation in pop culture which never made her unique Spanish beauty feel appreciated and her morbidly dark, insanely smart brain being intimidating. Coupled with shyness, it was unapproachable in a lot of ways. (My own mom actually tries to say she wasn’t “cute” back in the 80’s and my mom was hot as fuck, I’m sure she was just too naive to pick up on the interest.) I created a space and partnership for Carolina to learn how to love herself, and I created an environment where my life would have been undeniably worse without her in it. Carolina set a precedent for the love I expected for true partnership in life, and I don’t mind waiting for the right balance because I know it exists, because of her. 

Carolina let me love her unconditionally, like a golden retriever for her own life. I didn’t mind being the more “sober” friend (I didn’t like drinking much anyways because of the alcoholism in my family), so she got to be the conductor of the hot mess express. (With this ass…I was clearly the caboose.) Of the few times I did black/brown out, which was infrequent, even for the amount we’d go out, she was always ready to care for me. We once took the private P2P rides home (a little bus that picks up college students like uber, but for free and through verified state employees) and she literally reached out and had me throw up into her HANDS, instead of onto the floor of the van, just so we wouldn’t be an inconvenience to anyone else but each other. (Tequila Tuesdays at the Library are not my friend and if your favorite alcohol is tequila you are DEFINITELY insane…in a good way. I can’t and never could stomach a single shot.) 

One time (which is not a good look on me), we were at her dad’s lake house and playing pool as a drinking game with 100 proof Captain Morgan. Every ball that was left on the table at the end of the game was a shot (or half a shot, or a sip, as games went on). Guess who, 1 game in, switched out her chaser with rum only for her to literally not notice. My bad on that. Her dad had a discussion about “drinking” the next day, because we’d gone upstairs and walked through the maze of taxidermied animals (he has an entire safari, he’s one of those big game hunter type of men and writes alien cyberfiction in his spare time… truly a curious dude and I’m not gonna penalize him for the society he grew up in because he IS dedicated to learning, but we have to make it easy to learn) and had a late night drunken convo with her stepsister. The next morning she also gave herself a fat lip and jumped into the lake off the dock to distract from the mess (prior to the talk).

She is a fucking tough ass chick, too. That “performing for love” piece I just released? She also did gymnastics–way better and way longer than I did. If it wasn’t your ankle or your back, you weren’t allowed to complain. Injuries didn’t exist. Gymnastics teaches you how to eat shit in ways that won’t hurt you.

At my dorm freshman year, I once watched her sprint, chasing a guy from my floor along the hallway across the opening where the basketball court was. (Picture a giant “X” shaped building whose corridors with 4 rooms/1 bathroom each have doors that face outwards and hallways open to the air except for a sturdily high, thick railing.) As fast as she was, I, in complete terror, unable to do anything, watched her body tilt forward, falling towards the ground, only for her to seamlessly transition into a forward roll and continue chasing him like nothing had happened. 

One time, to her dismay (and my unmatched enjoyment) I hacked the facebooks of her and her best friend from highschool, a man, and set them to be “in a relationship”. She got over 500 likes from everyone in Charlotte who knew them and ALL of the comments were like “we knew it!” “congrats!” hahahahahahahahahahaha. It was her most “liked” facebook post ever.

She would stay over at the wrestling guy’s house just so I could hang out with him, and meet his friends, with company. I literally woke up to texts one day of her telling me his best friend, who she slept downstairs in the living room on the couches with, was just farting in his sleep the whole night. We wouldn’t even ask these guys for a ride back, the 2 mile walk up a HUGE HILL the next day, because

we would just walk with each other and were determined to be codependent independent women.

We treated each other like we were in a relationship, because, in a way, we were.

Friendships ARE relationships

and Carolina and I both value loyalty above all. We are weird as hell (a sentiment, which, the biggest difference between myself and that dear sweet fiancé of hers is that he thinks it is an insult when I reference myself as being “weird”, because he tries to “apologize” and say “no you’re not” when I claim I’m weird and I have to remind him that being weird or unique or strange isn’t a negative…sweet, sweet man.) and I think Carolina and I provided each other the knowledge and stability that someone was capable of loving you for who you honestly were.

I told my internet pal Nikki I am the “hospice of life”, which I attribute to my time working in end-of-life care for terminal head & neck and thoracic cancer at MD Anderson a few years ago (or my several near death experiences and my childhood functioning to watch and be the home health aides for my grandparents). I want to make every day my best day possible, whatever that means, for however long I have left. Because it might not be my decision when or how it ends, but it is my decision to make every moment until then work for me.

And Carolina shows me the same type of love. Perhaps most of all, she shows me the type of love that I need. The freedom to bloom, to grow, to be free. Embracing who somebody is without wanting or needing them to change, and just loving them in whatever form they show up in that day. A common sentiment that overlaps with yoga in a lot of ways, now that I think about it.  I recognized I needed to look for love and partnership in ways that overlap with the way my friendships work. And I realized the handful of men that I’ve spiritually connected with, who I can imagine enjoying a life with, remind me of her, much like her fiance reminds her of me in a few ways. 

I won’t “settle” for love until it can mirror the love for another’s soul in the way that my friendships offer me the opportunity to love and grow. I’ve never thought twice about whether or not I was capable of it. I’m a phenomenal nanny, the best dog mom, and just overall super loving beneath the scathing commentary and to those who know me privately. And knowing “my people” are out there on this floating space rock with me is pretty miraculous. It’s okay if you’re not born into love, or if you need a different type of love than your biological family can provide. You’ll find those people. Maybe it’ll be through the internet and sounds absurd because you’ve never met each other and the other person could be a 300 pound dude named Chuck who lives in his mom’s basement like this is Ready Player One, or maybe you’ll get lucky and you’ll meet your people right away. Either way, you must never give up hope. Look at me, getting all Star Wars on you. 

Alright that’s enough love and emotion for the day. Have a wonderful week.

Hope you think of me if you pray in church towards a half naked man draped across an altar and it fucks you up. I’ll be getting down to Lil Nas X’s music video in the meantime.

Not the second cumming of Christ you wanted,
but the second cumming of Christ you got.

Love is real. Toodles.

Performing for Love

Survival Mode
Performing for Love
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CHILDHOOD

If Disney Channel taught me anything growing up, it’s that I knew to anticipate my parent’s conflation of their previously failed and now second chance at a career or dream manifesting its way into my own life and I would certainly have to dramatically break free. All of those “it’s not my dream, dad, it’s yours” Zac Efron bullshit? Ya. 

So if anyone wants to give me shit for enjoying the art of “performance”, please direct your attention to the talent show at Mary H. Matula Elementary school when I was in third grade where I sang “The Star Spangled Banner” in a fuzzy blue sweater and red velvet skirt, both from Limited Too. Beginning the performance in dedication to my grandfather, a 3 time war veteran whose career for the U.S. Army involves testifying to congress and intelligence briefings in the Pentagon. Accompanied by my grandmother, whose pianist and organ skills were utilized at virtually every religious congregation in the area as well as providing the orchestral production to the local theatre during musicals. Obviously, I fucking won. I’ve known how to emotionally manipulate a crowd my entire life. I think we can all agree that wasn’t MY idea, either. I had wanted to learn the dance from the end of The Lizzie McGuire movie that Hilary and Haylie Duff performed with my best friend Shelby but nooooooo, that wasn’t “talent show material”. 

So sit back, keep your arms and legs inside the ride at all times, strap in, and enjoy the ride of this shit show. 

Back to parents using their children to live vicariously through–Let’s consider “sports” as a whole. How many parents, my own included, view sports as an “investment” instead of a healthy outlet for the natural human behavior of “competition”. Fuck “functional fitness” as a concept in childhood. 

Instead, we convince ourselves that children are just naturally predisposed to need so much fucking outlets for their aggression, focus, and drive that they WANT to be screamed at for 3 hours a day, 6 days a week in the pseudo-military, physique development training that is competitive gymnastics. I grew up in the fucking 90’s, too. My parents were riding HARD on that Olympics Team USA dream. Simone Biles was asked why she didn’t smile and she said “smiling doesn’t win gold medals” and people were like “oh that’s adorable, how cute” then a few months later we found out she’d been sexually molested by her trainer, along with hundreds of other athletes, for YEARS.

Gymnastics literally operates as a way to funnel children, but especially young women, out of the “general populace” and into excessive athletic competitions that essentially require you to use performance to justify abuse. We’re not like “oh shit, maybe this is a new method of child labor. There’s no way this is healthy.” Instead, we just sit there and go “Yuuuuuppp. Abuse and performing for love is the norm. It’ll be worth it. Gotta sacrifice everything if you actually want it”–without asking why the fuck we’re requiring children (and their parents) to realize you’re only THAT driven if you don’t have other outlets for creative and artistic expression as well as emotional catharcism. 

Now, I bring this up because as I approach my 30’s, and the unsolicited advice from older men on Seeking Arrangements remind me that “my looks won’t last forever” (no shit, dude… that’s when I’ll rely more heavily on my MULTIPLE STEM DEGREES), I have hit a rather unfortunate realization that having once run 85 miles a week, and playing multiple sports a season for YEARS, and the sheer amount and brutality of CONTACT sports, including gymnastics and football, does not bode well for my long-term physical health in a for-profit healthcare system. I have put my body through HELL. I will likely need a double hip replacement before I’m even 40. Can’t wait. 

Before quarantine, I was under the impression that I had a great body because of all the workouts. Now, after ~a year of limited physical activity (save yoga), I’ve realized it’s the cPTSD that keeps me in a state of hypervigilance and in constant fight or flight mode 24/7. Yippee! 

… Ya’ll can laugh but I’d prefer to be transparent simply because of the unrealistic standards for women’s bodies in the media, the exploitation of the beauty (and plastic surgery) industries capitalizing off women’s insecurities without requiring anything even remotely resembling mental health care and utterly lacking consumer protections, and the desire for people in the USA to get a “quick fix” for everything, thinking “treatment” of various forms will be a “solution” (particularly for such insecurities). 

Back to my childhood—

Let’s look at a few key moments in sporting, performance, and healthcare history that *likely* impacted the way I view the world:

When I was in kindergarten, I broke my foot for the first time by being pushed out into the fireman’s pole area on the playground, falling straight down (without holding onto the pole), and landing “Indian-style” (a VERY outdated term. Criss cross applesauce, crosslegged, etc) on the ground. I cried, and despite only being in kindergarten, learned a difficult life lesson which is that women’s pain will constantly be undermined and overlooked under the assumption they are being “dramatic” (a common trope in medicine, even). My teacher would not even let me call my mom. I had broken 3 bones and had to wait for the end of the school day. 

Once in gymnastics, before I quit because I would literally come home crying, hated my coaches, and begged my mom to let me stop (I loved the workouts, just not the “ALL COMPETITION MODE ALL THE TIME”), I ran full speed at a vault, just failed to jump on the springboard, and completely annihilated myself at full speed. Could’ve easily broken a rib, had the wind knocked out of me, tried to go hug my mom who was seated with the other parents next to the runway, and instead got pushed back onto it, BY MY OWN MOTHER WHOSE COMFORT I WAS SEEKING, because “you’re gonna get DQ’ed”.

A few years later, on the first day of a 4 day horse competition at a location called “Fair Hill”–which hosts huge overnight eventing shows–one of the horses I was walking STOMPED on my foot. I believe (if I remember correctly) that this was not the same foot I had already broken. Nope! The opposite one. Luckily, I broke a few bones on this side too–even things out a little neurologically, ya know. Did my mom believe me? Nope. Not at all. I was told to “suck it up” because people were depending on me. 

The conflation of sports with financial success, the ability to skirt capitalism and corporate working environments, and utilizing sports as a way of paying for what would otherwise be an unaffordable and inaccessible college is a dangerous game for children. Children are not seen as a decision brought into this world by two (sometimes more) loving parents who just want to provide a human with love and care. 

Children themselves become investments. Property.

By the time middle school even came around, my parents were fucked. To nobody’s fault but their own. They had raised me to be a soldier. I performed for love and the necessity to compete ALL THE TIME and to be the best, or at least your best, ALL THE TIME was solidified. Who could blame them, though? I was good at everything. They were just funneling outlets for it to me left and right. It probably had something to do with my own creative-as-fuck mom stayed at home, raised me on a farm, and then I had the musculoskeletal development through gymnastics. 

So what is the point that I’m getting at? I’m not “mad” at my parents. My sharing these stories is never with the intention of punishing them (at least not for my mom. Truthfully… I do not give a flying fuck about my biological father’s feelings.) It is, however, to reflect on the reality of the societal conditions I was raised in. Conditions that were and remain actively encouraged within the capitalist framework of our society with little to no well organized and developed social support programs. 

I have to actively AVOID competition now. I had to LEARN how to empathize. 

And when you’re raised by parents and BOTH of them were raised by family serving in World War II, one having a U.S. Army career and the other being NYPD law enforcement, you don’t really get a “soft” childhood. You get taught to be tough. Arguably, you’re doing the bare minimum of teaching–helping your children survive. 

You teach them to excel. To win. As is the only acceptable outcome in the USA–particularly backed by generations of teachings regarding dominance in all forms–land, sea, space, olympic.

And I undeniably rose to the challenge. 

But at what cost? 

For years my competitive drive was flaunted. It was rewarded, positive reinforcement’s finest. I kept winning, at everything. I’d switch into and pick up a new sport as I got bored, or competition was limited in the other outlets. In truth, I was probably a bit of a terror. I KNOW I wasn’t always the nicest teammate. Granted, I was there to work. To be respectful. To commit. To honour that commitment. To prove my worth with every practice, game, match, competition, whatever. 

And as long as I kept winning, my parents were doing something right. Their community success, their own value, resided in the way I “turned out”. Because fuck the concept of loving your children for whoever they actually are. For providing them enough emotional support, love, and quality time to actually be mentally balanced. They had to win, to earn, respect, love, and admiration at every step. They had to harness that drive, that conflict, that inner turmoil and channel it into competitive outlets because they had no control or ability to hold power within their home. 

Side note–My own biological father is so fucking delusional over who I am that he actually believes I didn’t want him to get married. I honestly could not give two shits if he is married or not. I simply did not care to invest in a relationship with a stepmom or step siblings when I had and wanted ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to do with him. I also just couldn’t afford to fly out to his wedding, when he chose “Hawaii” for “the convenience of HER children”, when I was in grad school and had a combined total of $2,000 to support myself for rent and food after my tuition was paid. I worked for my apartment complex, had an etsy, and STILL struggled but sure let’s make it clear you didn’t think about and don’t care if your own daughter attends your wedding then call her “unreasonable” and a “brat”. I have worked during every vacation I’ve been on, had free lodging, couch surfed, etc. so I could still travel, but how unaware of the reality do you have to be to label your daughter as “emotionally manipulative”, beginning in middle school, just because she doesn’t like or respect the person you are and makes that clear. 

For years I walked right past him, sitting glued to his computer screen or watching the same reruns of “A League of Our Own”, “Revenge of the Nerds” (which literally includes a rape scene he’d laugh at), and “The Sandlot” for hours when he came home from work, just to ran away ALL THE TIME. He literally never once realized I didn’t come back inside, or upstairs. He was nonexistent as a father for at least a decade of my life when I lived with him. He DID, however, show up to my sporting events. Ready to cheer me on and take all the credit for MY successes publicly. At my graduations, my friends have told me how he turned the conversation to himself, and to the many “sacrifices” he made for me over the years and how “proud” he was–while doing absolutely nothing to actually assist me in those achievements. Not even very basic or regular communication. It’s easy to sit there, cheering for and by someone when they’re winning. That isn’t what makes you a good parent. I do not need your applause. 

For years, I was the recipient of public endorsement after public endorsement, only to be criticized, to analyze and review my mistakes, to be punished behind the scenes. My perfectionism is the product of the environment I was raised in. An environment that was undeniably unhealthy, but even though I am now tasked with a life journey of remembering those moments, of relearning a way to be “healthy”, of figuring out how to finally be comfortable accepting help (and even being able to ask for it). Of not even having biological familial support for that because my parents had children to fill a gap in their lives and marriage and relationship without understanding or comprehending the world they were raising those children in. Without trying to understand them, or their world, because it contradicts their own.

Since excellence was expected, it quickly lost its glamour. Trophies don’t mean shit when you win one every weekend. National merit awards are weightless. Academic scholarships and college offers piled up. I was rewarded by society for pretending like my inner turmoil and unhappiness didn’t exist. For escaping and finding mental peace for everything that could keep me away from home. Competition gave me that. But why did I need it? 

I loved competing so much that I hated NOT competing my freshman year of college and set out determined to “actually” try (in track) so I could walk on to my collegiate team. I realized I had no interest in gymnastics again–my shoulder surgeries offered limited trust in the likelihood that I wouldn’t tear or break something again, but running was a feasible goal. After all, with enough time, anyone can systematically get better at it. It’s basic physiology, biomechanics. It’s cheap, free–you just lace up your shoes and go. It allowed me to reintegrate myself within the woods, exist in my natural state–free, moving, earthly. 

I went from partying 6 nights a week and drinking alcohol for the first time one year to working my way up to an easy 85 miles a week of SOLO distance training around Chapel Hill completely self-motivated. 

The endorphins kept me happy. My body was used to needing them in such high quantities after years of sports. Elle Woods was right–happy people don’t kill their husbands, or the other men who wrong them. They channel their frustration into physical performance and everything else just kind of melts away. 

So what do we do in the USA, when levels of anxiety and depression surpass The Great Depression? When long working hours and the necessity to be productive 24/7 are driving hard working individuals to their deaths and they’re convinced it makes them more valuable than others they look down on (so it feels “worth it”) because they perceive one’s circumstances and opportunities to be the same without awareness. When 25-35% of Americans are inactive, yet many more lack the space, resources, money, and safety to feel secure in exercise? Did you know that for women (and any other sexual assault survivors), it often feels safer to be heavier in weight. You may be catcalled less. You might command less attention if you float subtly as a wallflower. You feel safer, harder to kidnap.

Why have we created an environment, a society, a country where people have to have marathon endurance of energy, of mental strength, just to feel valued, seen, and heard within society? 

Why do we embrace an environment that makes you beg for worth, for love, for acceptance, and then wonder why it isn’t fulfilling? 

Why do we then ridicule, ostracize, and beat down those with moments of clarity–those who look around and question “why”. 

To what avail? 

Why do we exhaust their fuel tanks and then berate them for being empty? 

COLLEGIATE CAREER (15:25)

Part of the draw of sports was it offered my parents the opportunity to not have to pay for college. College got exorbitantly expensive. Both of my parents had scholarships, so they just anticipated that we would also and then they’d “figure out the rest”. They’d go on to take out loans (in our names), with money that never went to our own personal bank accounts, then set certain expectations for where and when our money would be given to us. 

I had to run track, because otherwise I was required to get a job. My parents never let me work in high school, outside of the summers, and I’ve discussed how the financial coercion allowed me to remain in more than one unhealthy relationship–the allure of presents I could never afford on my own was too appealing to pass up or break up with. 

Even the jobs I did get, my dad essentially forced me to take. I umpired beginning in middle school–his personal favorite, despite hating having to make the power calls, throwing adults out of 10U REC LEAGUE SOFTBALL GAMES WHEN I WAS 13 YEARS OLD. I hated bending over behind home plate as a crowd of boys from the ballpark watched behind me–clearly, awkwardly, and albeit somewhat innocently, fantasizing about me without connecting how physically uncomfortable I was inside. I didn’t really have a choice to care, though. I was expected to take the games (it was good money, there weren’t enough female umpires), I was going to be at the ballpark anyways (my dad was umping on other fields, we needed the money for all of our activities), and these were innocent boys who had childhood crushes on me–they weren’t expected to treat me with respect or fully abide by MY boundaries (a sentiment an unfortunate amount of men still embrace). 

In college, he genuinely thought I’d enjoy working at the local baseball stadium, dancing on the dugouts in between innings. I never enjoyed being forced to be an entertainer. Even if I was naturally good at it. I didn’t and shouldn’t have needed a second job for $7.25 minimum wage, when in reality he just wanted an excuse to be at that fucking ball field. I was standing on dugouts in short little khaki shorts, dancing to “Sweet Caroline” and “Cotton Eyed Joe”, plastering a glowing smile across my face, laughing on cue, and ignoring the sexually suggestive commentary of the washed up 40 year olds clinging to their love of baseball who would stand in the dugout so they could get the best view of my ass–all things women are trained to do our whole lives. My father universally thinks everyone seeks out the same power and limelight that he craves would come easy to him, and in doing so, he created a Frankenstein’s monster a la me, the eldest daughter. 

He no longer gets a choice in how or why or when I “perform” any longer. 

So fuck ‘im. 

Looking back, I find it hard, if not downright IMPOSSIBLE, to believe my biological father, a man who flaunts his intelligence, his financial prowess and awareness, and his ego, wouldn’t have been able to understand that, had he just divorced my mother when they stopped loving each other, we would’ve all gotten almost 100% of financial aid, because of her teacher salary, and I don’t really sympathize with anyone who uses the “but he paid for your college” trope because college was an expectation in my family and they specifically raised us knowing they would pay for it. I’m not going to apologize for being a national freak in high school and having the opportunity to literally go anywhere I wanted. 

In reality, my father prevented the divorce until he was ready to leave the community (and had a reason to physically move away) so he could control his public image to the best of his ability. He tells anybody that will listen these days how my mom cheated on him. Mind you, that very boss at that baseball stadium once asked me if he and my friend’s mom with giant fake boobs, perfect hair, and a Marilyn Monroe style body ever had an affair. My boss was the older sister of one of my brother’s baseball teammates almost his ENTIRE life. The woman she referenced had overlapped on almost every team with my brother. My dad can go fuck himself about my mom being the reason the marriage didn’t work.

He also tells people I “faked my PTSD and car accident for attention”, which is conveniently his way of discrediting the validity of my claims lest they ever negatively impact him. 

Women who are “hysterical” have historically been quite easy to keep submissive, subservient, quiet. 

I have no interest in ever being one of them. 

My parents never visited my siblings or I at school, outside of SAVE the rare holiday, or a sporting event. There were no “surprise” visits, or even care packages. 

My brother, the eldest, went to the University of South Carolina and walked onto their baseball program, the same program that went back-to-back-to-back College World Series finals. They won back-to-back national championship titles. Half of his teammates were drafted into the MLB. He took batting practice with Bryce Harper when he visited his brother. He found money–he was technically a “student manager”, as even with 91 games a season, the majority of D1 NCAA baseball only uses one catcher and the bullpen catcher position worked out well for skirting NCAA rules about paying students and not “technically” expanding your roster. He found fame–athletes, especially National Championship baseball athletes, were celebrities on college campuses. He found support–my dad would visit him just to be able to go to the games, talk to him in the bullpen, share “the love of the game”. (My dad went to Embry Riddle, so even though he played AAA ball for the Yankees feeder team over the summer, he never had the opportunity to play in college.) 

I never was able to earn that “official” roster spot, either, during my time at UNC, but the only time my dad DID visit my school was when I was running at track meets. Or for graduations. Otherwise, there was no reason to be there. To be supportive. It was an unnecessary hassle to see me. 

Yet, I’m to blame for “the joy of achievement” being a fundamental pillar of my ENTJ mentality? You know children are shaped by their genetics and environment, right? Both of which have everything to do with my parents and nothing capable of being controlled by me?

Again, I don’t necessarily “blame” my family for this. 

My parents both grew up under the context of military drafts, constant warfare, tension, and stress. Their fathers arguably could never fully take off their uniforms–how could you? Discipline comes naturally, and both of their own mothers were just as strict. They went to college, hours away from their parents, and travel wasn’t as feasible, affordable, or accessible. People wrote letters, they didn’t text. You sat in silence and learned how to survive on your own. How else were you expected to grow? 

Teaching your children to know they can’t depend on you, emotionally, mentally, physically, and then wondering why they’re hyper independent shouldn’t be so confusing. 

From a VERY young age, I was taught that my pain, my mind, my soul, would be ignored. In more ways than one.

I was taught to “suck it up”. To “move on”. In part, largely because there was no other option. 

When I started therapy my junior year of college, after a horrendous break up that left me unable to cope or function with any resemblance to humanity, it might’ve been the first time in my life that I had support from someone, an adult, who just wanted to learn more about me. Who wanted to learn more about why I do the things I do–not to judge, not for ulterior motives (save maybe some curiosity and also money), but to support and encourage my growth. I had someone who looked at me when I revealed things who would cry and watch me struggle for the words I needed without pressuring me to hurry up and find them. Someone who cared to listen. It only took me 21 years, and I feel like I got there a lot quicker than most Americans (lol, competitive nature, remember). How sad is that. 

I was desperate to make track work, even though I was forewarned and had my own nasty experience with the coaching staff. I hoped it would ease the financial burden I was to my parents. I hoped it would provide the structure and guidance I felt lost without. I wanted it to demonstrate my potential, my work ethic, my strength, mentally and physically, without requiring words. I never quite got the answers or validation from others that I sought, but I certainly found and prioritized myself over all of those miles. In truth, it didn’t end up mattering that the politics made me hate the formal premise of something I had learned to seek peace within, because I knew of the patterns of repetition, the mental clarity, the focus, the drive, that it took and that was enough.

SELF LOVE (24:13)

It makes me sad, in a way, how far humanity, particularly the bounds of “professionalism” within academia and the capitalist job industry, have skewed our purpose on this earth. Even the most kind hearted people worry about exposures over their public image. Exposures of seemingly innocuous human behavior well within the frame of “the norm” for our species–even if a particular conservative consensus portrays a fallacy of otherwise.

An old friend, who, if truth be told, was never really a “friend” to me (even if I thought they were my best friend for a few years) tried to blackmail me recently. In hindsight, and thanks to a reminder from my old therapist that “just because someone was a good friend in X context or Y year doesn’t mean they still benefit you”, it’s blatantly clear her own narcissism and “main character” syndrome has created an environment where she desperately grasps for control. I get it, though I don’t think I’ve ever particularly cared what people are saying about me, because I know my own integrity, character, and commitment to honor and honesty speaks far louder. 

Naturally, she texted my biological mother a link to this blog, framing her interest as a “concern” for my well being and wanting to know how my mother intended to “handle” me, a 28 year old woman. She threw a few threats in (in the same sentences she’d claim she was trying to handle it “like an adult”) like whether she should make her own blog and tell the world that my boyfriend in undergrad once mistakenly told me he was “clean” even though he had NEVER been tested for STD’s ever (Kansas and North Carolina…get your sex education together fucking now) and I got chlamydia. IDK…call me crazy but it seems a little disingenuous for someone about to start a surgical residency to stalk the private blogs of someone who has blocked them on all forms of social media and then try to socially shame them for sexually transmitted infections. Particularly in this modern age of healthcare. You have failed part of your training if that is the case. (I mean, she did fail part of her training but the current standards for med students are ridiculously paced, though that’s a separate discussion). 

…You’ve also failed the social norms of respecting any kind of boundaries. I’m allowed to reference the events in my life and people who shaped it and hold no allegiance to people who have sexually assaulted me when I shared a bed with them. I’m sure you thought I didn’t remember, since I never mentioned it and we remained friends, but you are a predator. And we don’t negotiate with terrorists over here in the U S of A baby. Kindly fuck off and out of my life and live your own without caring more about controlling your public perception than changing your private actions. Good luck.

Maybe that’s the hardest part for people to respect, or acknowledge…That those who you’ve interacted with do have their own stories–which might differ from you, or offer a striking contrast of perspective. But it seems ridiculous to expect them to be under an obligation of misplaced “loyalty” when you had none for them. 

I suppose if you’re obsessed with control this doesn’t strike you as weird. 

Personally, I’m not interested in power–I’m interested in the balance of it. I’m interested in the reciprocity of it. The fluidity and exchange of it. Mindful observation, communication, acknowledgment. There is power in knowledge, as Michelle Obama likes to remind us. Which is why the reciprocity of knowledge of my friends, the people in my life, matter most of all to me. I don’t want to be dominated by imbalances.

When you are motivated by serving others, it becomes so commonplace to put aside yourself and put the needs of others first that it takes a lot of time to re-learn this and not feel guilty for needing to express yourself in the way that you do. I’m reading “The Body Keeps the Score” and it’s incredibly validating about how I break down randomly crying in yoga, reminded of specific events with certain muscle activations, or how my own progress and recovery almost necessitates that I “shed” these events in ways that I feel are beneficial to creating conversation for a more important narrative. 

It is freeing, to speak on it. 

It is freeing, to allow myself to be who I am meant to be. 

I think I put up with a lot of unhealthy behavior, both in this “friendship” specifically and my previous relationships of variety (familial, dating, etc.) because I grew up in an environment that taught me to have unconditional love towards those who abused me. Physically, mentally, and emotionally. I tried setting boundaries, asking for space and things I needed, and they were ignored, downplayed, or frankly dismissed without care. I was a CHILD. Why is it that the burden fell and continues to fall on me to “drive it home”. 

I don’t want that kind of energy in my life any longer.

 It’s cancerous, so to speak. 

But to be who I’m meant to be, I also can’t hate myself or the events that got me here. I must speak on them, because they shaped me into who I am and trying to understand people, the community, life was my form of empathy and compassion when my abusers were calling ME the “narcissist” and “self involved”. Even after all of that, I’d forgive them because I loved them regardless. That’s not good, and that’s not healthy.

While on a walk with a good friend, someone I competed with on the Math team, who is a brilliant mind in STEM, I was reminded of the fact that when everything went wrong in my life, I clung to self love above all. Maybe that was my privilege. I was beautiful, skinny, blonde, and smart, but nowhere NEAR the “prettiest” (nor did I have the knack for fashion or the money) to be “popular”. I was athletic and good at any sport I wanted to try and was allowed to do (which I again contribute to hours of abusive coaching through muscular development). I was gifted in music, though I stopped publicly singing pretty early on because my brother would mock me for how much I loved it. I was smart at every subject, and loved to read and learn. I was enough, for myself. So when others mocked me, however true or false the words that they whispered or shared brazenly, I didn’t really care. I wish they wouldn’t. I didn’t enjoy it. But I knew it wasn’t a reflection of me. They had no meaning over who I was to myself, and that above all was the difference. 

My family has lost power over me, namely because I no longer respect or require the love of people who were seemingly incapable of loving ME. I find it tragic and pathetic that a child was framed as the “difficult” one for questioning her surroundings and that her parents only stopped their abuse when I got smart enough to threaten to call CPS. And instead of asking yourself why your child thought they needed law enforcement to protect their physical environment, you branded them as “difficult”. 

You said “every child runs away that young” when I was ~5 years old. Does every child pack a backpack after a particularly harsh disciplinary measure from their father, hide it in their closet, wait up ALL NIGHT and then sneak out in the early hours of the morning, crossing the dew covered grass barefoot, dragging my cat comforter, backpack slung over my shoulder, and DIABOLICALLY PLOT TO LEAVE WITH A DEFINITIVE PLAN? Then just LITERALLY NOT COME HOME FOR A WEEK until you’re forced to? Does every child not miss their family?

Maybe Disney’s Soul had it right and our personalities are decided for us long before we emerge into the physical realm. 

Maybe to some, even my own father, I AM the “manipulative megalomaniac who is intensely opportunistic”… but that’s Earth’s problem.

Or, maybe I’m just honest

Maybe my “weapons” of communication, my words, my writing are the way that I make sense of my world, because in reality they’ve been dismissed, for far too long.

I know the way I love myself can be matched because of the quality of my actual friendships. 

My best friend from undergrad lived with me all four years. We shared a room for 2 of those, practically, and still held sleepovers in the same bed when we needed the companionship. (#SapphoAndHerFriend). When she was depressed, because hormonal irregularities in women fucking suck and it’s our actual biology and can we please teach it and get universal healthcare for christ’s sake, I’d clean her room for her, and she’d let me, knowing it made me happy to be helpful and she didn’t have the energy or time to prioritize it. Her family took me on every family vacation, I’ve gone to every wedding, beach weekend, or just casual hang outs because I just love to be in their presence. And she loves me for who I am. Who I actually am. Not who other people want me to be.

My sister told me she never doubted whether she wanted to go to college because she saw what my best friend and I had and “just wanted that”. 

Of my two best gal friends from graduate school–one lives in Florida and I literally could just exist happily as her roommate for decades if she wasn’t destined to be a mom sooner rather than later. We didn’t LIKE to go entire days without talking to each other. The other one lives in Boston and has dated one of my best male friends and visiting them is like visiting home. She is the most incredible chef and it makes me hate the “chore” of cooking less and perceive it as an act of love and nutrition rather than just a way of integrating chemistry into health. They make me a better person, because they love me without expectation. They nurture my growth. 

One of the people whose minds I value so much, but whose privacy I’ve also wanted to protect, goes out of his way to remind me that I have already accomplished so much. Even with the “failed” collegiate sports track (to my mother, whose legacy of a full ride D1 scholarship and 9th at Penn Relays was NOT going to be in my future), he would dismiss me undermining my accomplishments and say things like “psshhhh. Please. You’re basically an Olympian.” I thanked him the other day, after my biological mom passively mentioned to me “you haven’t even accomplished anything yet”, for reminding me that success is arbitrary and very subjective.

To me, “success” now means happiness. 

And happiness means mental peace. 

That aforementioned “joy in achievement” that ENTJs crave so desperately now means a wider range of things to me. Maybe it’s the romantic in me, for I am an artist at the root of it. Though I tend to also downplay THAT, because I’ve never taken formal art classes and don’t know proper technique or how to reference (but Van Gogh was also self taught so as long as I don’t take up the drink or cut my own ear off, I think I’m on the right path). Plus, writing is even more self deprecating and emotive than painting and since writing is in everything we do, and most people are capable of doing it, those who don’t publish their work in the same avenue, or get the insight of others prior to publishing, might downplay their significance. The old “if a tree falls in a forest and nobody is around, will it make a sound?” phrase? “If nobody is reading their scribbles, can they call themselves a “writer”?” 

I am done performing. 

My friends have shown me that I don’t need to. 

I have shown them the same. 

I do everything now for self love. 

I have faith in myself, above all, and know I don’t need to tread along these roads alone, but I do need to make myself accessible to those who want to walk with me, for however long.

I want to allow myself to love–who I am with the understanding that I’m certainly not that “difficult”, I’m just “honest”. And it’s perfectly clear the USA struggles with accountability regarding the “truth.” 

I want to allow myself to learn–in both the traditional academia sense and in unconventional routes, such as just seeing what my favorite humans can teach me just by learning about them. Mindful observation. Who they are, holistically.

I want to allow myself to grow–to plant myself where I know I’m happy, where I want to create and cultivate a life.

Maybe I’ve been watching a little bit too much “Game of Thrones”. Maybe Spring bringing warm currents of air, the flowers blossoming, and the leaves returning has happily coincided with my diabolical nature feeling extra refreshed. Maybe the culmination of my fully vaccinated status, embarking on air travel again, and moving plans are the momentous change signifying clarity, peace, and a new day. Signifying hope. 

Or, maybe it’s just love. 

My friend from the math team, let’s call him “Wade”, because I told him his hacker cybersecurity status gives me major “Wade” from Kim Possible vibes, asked how my car accident changed who I am. He’s known me pretty well since middle school, though as an introvert and nerd he fulfilled the “wallflower” role of the public school experience. I told him it changed nothing about “who” I am, PTSD and all, but it changed the way I prioritize life. 

In a way, I feel like I died that night. I watched myself fly into the treeline, out of control, and fully accepted my death. I was content, in that moment. Ready for it. 

All of this just seems like extra time. 

It seems like the time I get to enjoy my life.

It’s the time I get to prioritize the people I love, and those I want to create a life with. Not the things that I want to do. Not the goals I want to achieve.

It’s time I get to create a life for me.

It might seem “illogical”, maybe it’ll derail my career, however temporarily, but I won’t regret it. 

You don’t regret the things you do in love. 

Because at the end of the day, there isn’t enough love in the world. 

How can there ever be? 

And living a life built on love, for yourself, for others, for your community, means acknowledging the things that come easy–the highs, the achievements, the stepping stones–but even more so the ladders that built you into who you are. The foundational concrete. The support beams. Reconstruction and remodeling. The carfax. 

I know what “love” is because I know how to show it to the people in my life. Because it is what I show to everything in my life–my art, my animals, my friendships, my travel, my relationships, the sky and leaves and trees around me. Other people’s love might look different–communication is about learning how to speak each other’s language, and not everyone will try to learn yours, however badly you may wish it.

The great wrestling love of my life and I never worked out because, ultimately, it was me who couldn’t communicate. Which may seem crazy, given that I have essentially a personal diary on the internet freely available for anyone and everyone to read. (Arguably because I opened up to one guy and had to rush to make it seem like that wasn’t MONUMENTAL for me…) Yet, now I think even that was for a reason, even if I don’t understand it quite yet. Even if I never find out why. He was a communications major, too (typical of D1 athletes), but it’s why he knew my sleeping soundly with him was so huge, or why he knew I enjoyed watching him play video games and openly talking to his friends about me, or why he knew I loved him even though I couldn’t speak to him. 

I couldn’t tell him that I called him after my car accident because no, I didn’t have anybody else to call. My mom yelled at me. My sister asked me if she could get back to her birthday dinner while I called her from the side of the road, trying to distract myself from reliving the crash over and over and over again in a seemingly parallel universe to my retinas intaking the actual scene unfolding before me in current time, while I sat there, dissociated, and realized I had moments before decided I was okay with being dead. That I didn’t think I’d be making that phone call…but she didn’t care. I was a distraction. An annoyance. A burden.

I couldn’t tell him that I loved being in his presence because, for seemingly one of the few people’s presences, ever, I felt mental peace. That him trusting his intuition and chasing me down in the dining hall my freshman year, jumping over tables to get to me, was the start of an invisible string weaving our tales and lives together harmoniously for years to come. I didn’t know how to voice to someone that I knew I loved them because I recognized what I felt I’d been denied my whole life. Someone chose me.

And when his dog, the love of his life, who ADORED me, and to this day, who I think he will always, always, ALWAYS wonder if he misses me (even if he’s plenty happy now), had tumors and surgery and needed to consider termination of treatment, I didn’t know how to explain that I knew how scared he was because I’d gone through it with several horses, now, including one that followed me around the pasture like a puppy.

And I don’t think I could be that person for him, even if I felt it, because I didn’t know how to communicate it. And I was scared to learn. Scared he’d judge me and leave me. I couldn’t tell him, someone who was just as worthy of undeniable love and support as I was, that I cared or why. 

In truth, I don’t think I knew how to frame it, because the sad reality is that recognizing that was your experience sucks, for everyone involved. 

How do you explain that to people? 

I went on a date recently, which was nice enough, but I knew it wasn’t “it” because he kept APOLOGIZING to me when I explained who I was. 

I’m not “sorry” for the things that happened to me. Do I wish that I had some different contexts? Sure. Do I make decisions now to prevent myself from being stuck in the same cycles of negativity? Sure. But being “sorry” for the things that made me who I am–someone I LOVE–is never going to be the answer. 

To this day, I’ve only told one man a particular layer of depth regarding my familial life directly. Some of the ones I’ve formally dated have experienced it first hand, for sure. But only one has asked me to tell them. And when I asked him not to pity me, he told me that my telling him had the opposite effect. He said he thought higher of me, like I was stronger. It’s scary to believe him. To think that might actually be the case…especially from someone I love, someone I think already does (and arguably who I just want to) love me. 

…He’s a dumb ass Virgo, though, so try as he might to “not let me in that easy” (his words, not mine), I’m like “bro, you associate me with everything you love. Figure it out. I will not beg for it. I deserve someone who can communicate their love for me without stipulation. Who chooses me every single time, whether it is convenient or not.” My friend from UF was once at a tailgate, about 2 years ago now, and told me this guy was there, sitting off to the side, by himself, looking down at his phone and smiling. He was texting me. It’s little moments like these, times I know he thinks of me, the depth in the moments in which he needs me, that I know he loves me. Even if he struggles with his own words. 

I don’t know why, call it a premonition, but I just think everything is going to fall into place. I think I am exactly who I’m meant to be, for whatever I’m meant to do in this lifetime, because I’m committed to learning and growing along the way. 

There is power in intelligence. 

And there is confidence in the intellect of oneself. 

How better, than to cultivate a life, devoted to loving oneself, one’s friends, one’s chosen family, so fiercely, passionately, and purposefully, that your love becomes that powerful? What else is there?

“Homie, I’m Professional”

Survival Mode
"Homie, I'm Professional"
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-LIL DICKY

You wanna know why I really started this blog?

When I recognized that you could be one of the best doctors in the United States and the uneducated, selfish opinion of a spray-tanned narcissist would render all of that education, power, and years of cultivated intellect useless. 

So what are we talking about today?

Professionalism in the workforce.

Or, how I like to call it, the differences in societal expectations for a female’s private life compared to that of her male coworkers.

Fuck it, let’s jump in.

Please don’t start talking about the patriarchy…

Oh, but guess what… I am. 

Acknowledging the undertones of our own patriarchal society means acknowledging the traditional gender roles that are almost universally similar all over the world at varying stages throughout history: from hunter-gatherer societies to modern day civilization, men worked the manual labor, having stronger physical builds, more calloused hands, and really embracing that burly warrior “save me kind stranger” mentality that I am still (annoyingly) attracted to (& why one of my recent Bumble matches extended that to my being attracted to army / marine branches, but not navy or airforce…woops…guilty as charged), whereas women were the child care providers, the “gatherers”, more passive, and ultimately, weak

As an aside, we all KNOW men were the little bitch babies who rebranded women as “weak” even though a significantly high proportion of women wake up in a pool of their own blood several days of the month, are capable of growing an entire human being inside of them, and then EITHER PUSH SAID BABY OUT THROUGH A HOLE IN BETWEEN THEIR LEGS OR GET IT SAWED OUT OF THEM, MOVING SKIN, INTESTINES, MUSCLES TO THE SIDE, AND THEN REPOSITIONING IT ALL BACK INTO PLACE AND STITCHING THEM BACK UP LIKE NOTHING HAPPENED.

Anyways, with the industrial revolution and moving away from agricultural roles, more and more men entered the workforce in factories or office jobs and women still stayed at home with the kids. Coupled with years of war after war (because a bunch of men across a variety of countries, who had thousands of acres yet demanded more power and sailed across oceans because men are ultimately selfish fucks and think they MUST “know all” and enact a “best” way of life over people instead of just minding their own fucking business) and Rosie the Riveter propaganda, women diverged from their traditional gender roles, traded their corsets and hoop skirts for pants, and realized they did not in fact need to solely rely on someone else for their health and livelihood.

Now, I will acknowledge, that there is some comfort in the fact that I could probably exist solely on my looks, willingly permitting myself to be a baby machine and collecting enough child support to fund my preferred lifestyle for at least 18 years. My dream, however, is for someone to just pay me to exist with no sexual or birth obligations, ya know, like the lifestyle of a wealthy heiress. Unfortunately, I was born a peasant (read: civilian army brat). But, who knows…maybe, when I’m inevitably still single several years from now, working on yet another degree or creative venture, I’ll back track on that and be begging one of the guys I’ve ignored for years to go back to his simp lifestyle and wife me up. However, that’s unlikely, because if there’s one thing I am above all, it’s stubborn.

I’d rather die of loneliness than admit my need for a man.

Do you know how infuriating it is to enjoy and crave the security walking in a male’s presence offers me as a fiercely independent woman? Ugh. gross. 

Yet, as more and more women entered the workforce, diverging from the “1950’s gender norms and nuclear family” model (heterosexual parents of opposite genders with 3 children where the male was the sole financial provider, spending minimum of ⅓ of his life away from his wife and kids and the female was a housewife who did more than a full-time job taking care of the children for no pay other than her husband’s meager factory earnings), we continue(d) to undervalue positions held by women, while placing excessive earning potential in administrative positions largely held by men, continuing to perpetuate women needing to meet the standards of male superiors across almost every field at nearly every moment in their careers. Unless you were a small business owner, or inherited a sum and could fund whatever projects you wanted, you likely would not have made enough money, regardless of what advanced degree or career field you achieved, to comfortably support yourself and propel yourself out of whatever modern day American caste system you were born into. 

Even now, I hold multiple careers: I’m a middle school teacher at a school in a predominantly low-income area, I work as a contract epidemiologist on SARS-CoV-2 (which, is universally no longer a hoax thanks to the negligence of the Republican lawmakers in Washington, D.C.), I have my own small Etsy business with my art. Yet, my male “Best friend” had the audacity to tell me he didn’t want to read my blog “because he would rather read something like that from someone who is ACTUALLY accomplished.” (Literally the biggest eye roll of my life.)

SIR. I developed an advanced stage prostate cancer inhibitor step-by-step from visualizing and recreating the active site to chemical synthesis to spectroscopically confirming it was the right chemical to then testing it in vivo for efficacy BY AGE 22. AND WAS PUBLISHED IN A HUGE NATIONAL SCIENTIFIC JOURNAL. So, excuse me, if I think that your opinion on what it means to be “accomplished”, just because you inherited a few family businesses in the hospitality industry and make over 5 times the money I do, is shit.

All you’ve accomplished is your Ocala Trump rally became a super spreader of coronavirus. Great fucking legacy. Go fuck yourself.

That’s what happens when you devalue the work that actually matters and keeps society running, yet allow men to desperately think they shouldn’t pay taxes on their 87 hotels that are purely for luxury travel. Build some parks, beautify the community, make things accessible, and reinvest in the people and places that allow you to not care about the difficult stuff as much. Because your little facade that let’s you ignore the realities of the world are because of THOSE people who are the ones that make your grandiose Gatsby-lie is cliché. You don’t need 30 fucking cars while people are committing suicide over the bleakness of the poverty they’re born into. 

The disappointing part is this isn’t just a regular occurrence with my male friends, who pretend to be conscientiously aware, yet still won’t call out hypocrisy when it’s in the form of their childhood best friend, spouting off racist, sexist, or homophobic remarks directly across the table from them, but it’s ALSO universally occurred at every workplace. Just this summer, whilst working on coronavirus deployed to a south Florida county health department, my supervisor sent out a site-wide email detailing the dress code, specifically “no skirt shorter than fingertip length”. Yet, the very next day, after confirming my skirt was in fact, several inches below fingertip length, it “was still too short” and she demanded I go home and change or be fired (which, she had no firing or hiring potential over me, for the record). At one point during the conversation she even confirmed it was well within her clearly dictated dress code policy (from her snotty email the day before), but that my legs, which were underneath my desk, which I sat at for almost every hour of the day other than lunch, were still “too distracting”. I don’t know what kind of perverted lesbian you are ma’am, but you’re making the rest of us queer folk look pretty fucking done with your bullshit subjective sexuality on our bodies. As a white, blonde woman, I pass for incredibly heteronormative, too, so I find it a personal obligation to stick up for the small instances when injustice occurs within my presence, whether or not it involves me, because that’s nothing to what people must do when they don’t perceive anyone noteworthy to be a corroborating witness. I believe the phrase was

“you are personally responsible for becoming more ethical than the society you were born into” and I believe that to be firm and true. 

But some of the worst criticism of women comes from other women–so how can we possibly dismantle a system that has somehow pitted conservative women who prefer the comfort of traditional gender roles against the free-spirited wanderlust hippies who just want love in whatever form it takes possible? Especially when the end goal for both is just valuing deep, meaningful, authentic love, it just takes a slightly different form? How do we convince those who don’t want to listen that we all want peace, security, comfort, and love, but the way to do that is not by refusing to acknowledge other mindsets, withholding public support and assistance, and encouraging a safer world for all? And the world as a whole is angry. So we’re right to be fearful. Within our own country, we are edging towards a modern day civil war, all because our piece of shit tangerine who holds the White House hostage called for a “Stand down and stand by” order for the Proud boys aka the Ku Klux Klan aka literal nazi’s in the United States. DID NONE OF YOU FUCKING GO TO THE HOLOCAUST MUSEUM AS CHILDREN? WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YA’LL WHO CONTINUE TO LOOK ASIDE AT THIS BEHAVIOR?

I won’t get into it within the context of this discussion, but you can find the direct comparison of Trump and Hitler HERE.

The important context of bringing that up is somehow it made more sense to have yet another shitty white male president instead of a false feminist icon just because the “its her time” mentality was a shit platform for a woman to represent a feminist icon to all the youth of tomorrow. Every former Trump supporter I know, and there are MANY, because I grew up incredibly conservatively, went to undergrad in the state of North Carolina, and went to graduate school in the state of Florida, would STILL have made that same exact choice. The stakes for the first female president were high, sure, but they weren’t unrealistic. Inability to meet these standards isn’t because these women don’t exist, it’s because we’ve sequestered power in such a way that women have been historically dependent on men for generations

We’ve allowed men to remain dominant across every society for so long, because of their sheer physical dominance. So our government has become overtaken with a bunch of ex-military men who could just as easily be shitty football coaches but instead go into politics who condemn themselves to cycles of violence because they never learn the value of a life whilst guiding drones from a distance and we encourage people to never step foot outside of their own little bubble, so the WMAL radio show that my stepdad plays every day, an INCREDIBLY right-wing news station, literally has an anchor calling for preservation of Texas as a red state.

Why do you WANT to be drawn to violence?

How could we ever be encouraging a less violent, better world for our children if we’re refusing to help those who show up on our doorstep?

You all are acting like the people who turned Mary and Joseph away. Might I remind you that the majority of you worship a book about a man of color who is murdered by keepers of the law. 

Yet, women have emotional intellect. Women are devious, breath-takingly alluring, cynical. Women haven’t been encouraged to hide their emotions so they parade them freely. Those who do it without giving a damn on the reception of others, become deadly. I would know, because I’m one of them. If you ever were lucky enough to see it in action, you’d understand the alarming nature of this blog is perfectly packaged into an innocent looking actress who can flip tactics at the drop of a hat. Only I’m not playing someone else’s role. Growing up in an abusive household–physically, mentally, emotionally, will do that to a girl. I’ve just chosen to use it for the “Greater good”, instead of the Kyle Rittenhouse version of a misplaced vigilantism that is really just lunacy. Believe me, I’ve contemplated long and hard about what people I would have enjoyed killing. My high school boyfriend beat the shit out of me for four years, I’ve stared down the barrel of a gun, I’ve beaten the shit out of someone who sexually assaulted me, the thoughts entered in fleeting passes while I stoically faced all of these, and many other, difficult circumstances. I think, even for sane people, or at least the majority of men, if you had been in that position, your fight-or-flight would’ve been activated and you would’ve put your own survival over your abuser any day. I’m resilient. A survivor. So if you want me to let the law hold them accountable, stop undermining my faith in its uses. 

If I were a man, my confidence that inevitably teems with sexual undertones due to the physical attractiveness of my outward physical form would be APPLAUDED. My acknowledgment of reality and the need for pragmatic decisiveness would be paraded on a Joe Rogan podcast much like Elon Musk. Nobody would make the “humble too” comments when I specify not feeling the draw to be tied down, because my value wouldn’t be tied to another person acknowledging it’s worth and placing it above their own, and I wouldn’t be assumed to place a greater value in someone else’s career and educational development over my own. 

So in 2020, what is the point of me “shutting up” and “getting used to it” when my aunt had to deal with the same criticism, commentary, and hurtful insinuations over fifty years ago just because it’s the “cultural norm”. Why the fuck do we think that is just acceptable, inevitable? Safer for women? And now that we KNOW better, when we can document account after account to prove this is a HUGE issue across multiple cultures, why the fuck aren’t we refusing to let each and every single one of the 50 states progress at their own pace of dismantling racism until history is in fact doomed to repeat itself because Captain America: Civil War is about to be released and suddenly tubby middle-aged white men are going to act like him taking a “liberal” stance (condemning racism) means they should boycott Marvel or whatever fucking universe he’s from because apparently human decency is a fucking political issue still. How about you channel that rage towards your other white men who are the reason we have to have this conversation over and over and over again? Okay, buddy?

People suck in every color, don’t think whites are so superior. 

When I make any decision in my personal life: sexually, related to social media or how I communicate with my friends, what clothing I choose to buy or be seen in in public, it can never be made without considering what those decisions might prevent me from doing within my career. But why is that so? We have a president who has undeniably sexually assaulted hordes of women, is implicated in a pedophilic sex trafficking ring with two other disgraced former best friends, and yet, even with that, this man was elected as president of the united states. Supposedly the most coveted position in the world. And I still didn’t want the first female president, a symbol for future generations of women to come, to be one who lacked transparency, who stood by her husband and political marriage without acknowledging it, who publicly condemned her husband’s mistress, a young girl who spent time with a very powerful man–a man of whom was supposed to be the bigger person, the authority, of literally every person in the United States. Fucking pathetic excuse of a nation we live in. THOSE were our choices?

And how do we go about enacting change if those of us who have access to higher education, even those like me who take out thousands of dollars of loans because what knowledge gives me will never not be worth it, get drawn into the bubbles of glitter and distracted by our years in debt until we look around and realize the smooth-talking con men of the world have usurped logic and condemned those in the public eye such that no sane person would ever willingly enter it. Your life inevitably going to be picked apart with such vulgarity that Joe Rogan’s Spy-Kids Floop Fooglie’s thumb-men looking ass can somehow roast you for your physical appeal as if there was any world where his opinion was somehow more valid when you were just trying to make the world a better fucking place. 

Maybe its because of the optics. Scientists were historically meager, weak, depressive folks. Our increased intellect meant we questioned the world with such intensity that we realized the bleakness in how far society has skewed humans from our innate purpose on this world–of actually enjoying and learning to appreciate the natural world around us, instead of always desperately building wall after wall because we’re scared of what’s outside. Did we ever think that Albert Einstein maybe looked around, saw the state of the world, and was like “we need to do something about this.” Why do we always reference his depression in studies about his life but not about how depression is inevitable in a society that puts money and individual prowess over enabling safe, loving human interaction? Of welcoming your neighbors? On teaching values of peace without tying it to one particular religion because there’s no “one” right way of life and if we don’t know that by now, then I really don’t think you should be able to vote in a cultural melting pot of a country. 

Or, maybe, it’s because when scientists have spoken out, they die. You can’t tell me those Russian doctors just fell out of those windows on their own. Or that Edward Snowden wasn’t arguably justified in warning the American people, even when, in my opinion, it’s hugely naive to assume every moment of your life ISN’T being watched, unless you live in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. To be honest, having a trail for people gives me, as a single woman, a sense of peace. It’s accountability. And as a woman, 1 in 5 of whom will be raped or attempted to be raped in their lifetime in the United State. Although for every 1000 sexual assaults, only 230 are reported, and 995 of those 1000 perpetrators will walk free. So I like knowing that there may now be some greater chance to hold those people accountable. But scientists are also usually quieter, nerdier, we were bullied when we were younger. I’m currently facing the knowledge that if Trump really does enact his authoritarian rule over the United States and refuse to leave office, come November, with some false claim about the corruptness of the mail-in ballot system, even though he had nothing to say about it when the same system benefitted him in 2016, I might need to escape to Switzerland and hide out for the content on this blog, because it may become “illegal” and I’ll be back in the Salem Witch Trials hysteria I thought we had finally moved past as a society. If you think I’m being unnecessarily dramatic, I would like you to open your fucking eyes to the reality that our federal government is currently preparing for the scenario in which he refuses to leave office and tries to enact martial law with a militarized police and Proud Boys army. 

And there’s truth in Michelle Obama’s infamous “when they go low, we go high” mentality, but it’s also as equally important to draw the line and know when to say “Step the fuck back, what I’m doing with my life does not involve you at all so take your god damn opinion and shove it up your ass.” If white men are wondering why people are still so irritated when everyone has the right to vote now, please look at Congress, to this day, and let me know how a majority of white men are SURE that they are the reckoning force to bring values of diversity, representation, and dismantling oppression into this world when really they’re just telling us they’re still comfortable assigning themselves as the gatekeepers of determining what topics have validity or not… even when they have no actual experience in the fields. 

We’ve also undeniably had an overwhelming presence of military leaders within every level of our government, largely due to name recognition and the power of symbolic imagery, so it’s going to take more than one black, male president to change the cultural ideology, especially when every new colored, queer, or gendered individual is going to be the first _______ whatever position still for decades to come depending on which state they choose to live in, inevitably overcoming the same obstacles time and time again all because we think leaving it up to “state’s rights” means parts of Alabama still exist in the good ole 1950’s, even though we should probably be sterilizing people that contribute to placing less value on knowledge (in whatever form), think LESS government will solve the whole “crime” issue, or just have an IQ below a certain point. I’d rather sterilize them, at least temporarily until they can be educated, than the immigrant women who seek out a better life, only for the “pro-life” (read: really just anti-abortion) crowd to refuse to acknowledge their existence because they want to universally assign a devalued human belief onto an entire cultural group with no knowledge of them as an individual all because they (falsely) believe immigrants don’t pay taxes, despite the fact that undocumented immigrants paid tens of millions of dollars more in taxes to a system whose healthcare they can’t access validly, a system they can’t vote in, yet one whose president, worth billions of dollars, pays less than a middle school teacher with two degrees working in a low income community. I believe it was Miss Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez who tweeted, “Just to be clear. There is nothing “pro life” about denying people comprehensive sexual education, making birth control harder to access, forcing others to give birth against their will, and stripping them of healthcare and food assistance afterwards.”

It’s sickening, the hypocrisy.

And the patriarchy IS because of the military, but I find it impossible to believe that your prejudice towards military strength is so usurped by your views that you truly believe a man who created an environment where half of our country, particularly the die-hard, supposedly pro-military regions of Texas and Florida, will question utilizing masks and doubting science, in an age of global warfare of biochemical weaponizing, is a good man. If that’s the truth, then you are an absolute idiot. I have no sympathy in saying that because your judgment is clearly clouded. Maybe all of you constitutionalists were right and only 6% of the population SHOULD have the ability to vote. Plot twist–it shouldn’t be you uneducated cucks. We sealed our fate the day we tied property ownership to voting potential–securing power in the hands of those who take more than their “fair” share in a system undeniably rigged to benefit them. You should hold yourself to a higher standard than that as a human being. If your religion hasn’t taught you to place value outside of monetary gain, then this is the entire problem with organized religion.

And in addition to sequestering power in the hands of (historically) white men of various European descent, those same men now have this delusional sense of importance because they have tangible, real idols in every position and industry that are taught to them from such a young age that nothing seems impossible, except, in the modern world, maybe finding a girl who doesn’t still enjoy shaking her ass to funny lyrics on Tik Tok. Men–we all know you’re just jealous that you feel so restrained your theatre-geek-loving-self is hidden under more layers than Shrek. Get with the times, gents.

It’s that same elevated importance in men too that let’s them just “decide” not to be aware about the realities of the world. They cram a year of emotions into the weeks of their NFL fantasy football leagues–as sports has historically been one of the only ways men have been allowed, by society, in the United States, to actually CARE about something. They can get emotional, but only in reference to competition. But life is a game, baby, and we’re all just here to win. Even Albert Einstein is quoted as saying “you have to learn the rules of the game, and then play it better than everybody else.” But men with small minds, like said aforementioned Joe Rogan, Donald Trump and pretty much any white male still endorsing him, only see a limited sense of competition. They lack that emotional edge that encompasses the nature of unconventional warfare women are so talented at. Whether it’s been repressed for years because they’ve been taught that was the only way to achieve success or they’re just upset that the hot girl from their high school wouldn’t fuck the pompous pig they’ve always been, even back in the day, that lack of connection to empathy will always render them weaker. You see, for those of us who have had to learn to compartmentalize emotions–as I said, it’s a dog eat dog world out there and I’m always going to survive–any man who overcompensates his financial success with material goods and nothing else substantial is always going to come in second. Or, as I like to call it, be the first loser. Mainly because they don’t actually understand true happiness. Their version of winning, like everything else in their life, is a facade. They slap a price tag to success, or a position title, even the most coveted one in the world, now so pathetically devalued that it will never hold the same weight it once did, and cry out desperately for outward validation because they’re unable to provide that inner sense of validation to themselves, and they always will be unable to do so.

Within that same group of men is a special place in hell set aside for the men in STEM fields. Men who have been so pathetically focused in their careers, a great, noble goal (but again, it’s JUST as necessary to learn how to communicate your goals to the general public for it to be relevant, and teachable) that they have to be sat down like children and you feel like a fucking parental figure of a man several years older than you who refuses to set aside the time to expand his own cultural awareness. No, instead, he begs for YOU to set aside the time, time and time again, to be the one responsible for educating him, even though the information is freely fucking available on the internet, but you just don’t see it as a beneficial use of your time unless you can also potentially fuck the source of it one day. Cry me a river. As I said, I’m not mad, I’m just way less interested. I have been, since, even several months into getting to know me, you revealed you were STILL contemplating whether to vote independent or not. What the fuck, dude. 

Or the likes of those researchers, Scott Hardouin, MD and Thomas Cheng, MS, amongst others, who published in the August 2020 Journal of Vascular Surgery issue addressing the “Prevalence of unprofessional social media content among young vascular surgeons”. Which, hear this, went into a lovely, completely fucked up detail in which, a man, went through the social media of male and female surgical trainee, unethically, as he did not have the permission to use the Association of Program Directors in Vascular Surgery database for his “research”. (Which, if you ask me, honestly just sounds like a bunch of hot female surgical trainees wouldn’t fuck him, so he wanted to Mark Zuckerberg his way into the medical field by creating a way to effectively rank them that would negatively hurt their careers or personal sense of worth.) So these MALE students, supervised by MALE leadership, subjectively ranked social media posts of women wearing bikinis, OFF-HOURS, as “POTENTIALLY UNPROFESSIONAL” compared to men on social media. Note: male bathing suits were not “unprofessional”. Even if you wanted to potentially label a male bathing suit like a speedo as “unprofessional”, they WOULDN’T, because that could constitute discrimination towards the LGBTQ community. And medicine is the forefront of this discussion because we, as scientists, as cultivators of the human body, of artists of humanity, should be the most progressive of all, especially of the subjectivity of social constructs related to gender and social norms. Not to mention that women comprise only 10% of active vascular surgery members, so the barriers they certainly already face in a male-dominated field definitely don’t need to be raised. 

WE AS A SOCIETY PROBABLY NEED TO ACKNOWLEDGE THE FUCKING FACT THAT PEOPLE SHOULD NOT ALWAYS “BE” PROFESSIONAL. AND YES, I CAN SAY THAT, BECAUSE OF THE VERY MAN SEATED IN THE FUCKING WHITE HOUSE. Seriously. No matter what your job is, you should be able to move through your private life, if you’re not hurting anybody else (which is why all you dumb fuck anti-maskers don’t get to just have your fucking “freedom”) with honesty and not be constantly terrified of the retributions. If the medical community is so progressive that a huge public university’s medical school can shelter a self-proclaimed potential pedophile who was investigated by the SBS and had his parents destroy all records of the child pornography he did in fact access, then we can be progressive enough to stop fucking stigmatizing women. Especially in relation to the blatant sexualizing of the female body through toxic patriarchal and heavily Christian overlapping themes, as medical professionals, you should acknowledge that your “danger zones” or “private parts” are literally just another body part and maybe we should be able to colloquially discuss aspects of health without stigma, and by shaming almost exclusively the female human body, we’ve condemned the women in our society to cycles of violence that are running rampant and unobstructed, led by the man currently housed at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. Get your shit together, men. Because I’m fucking sick of it.

Wanna know just a few other bullshit things I’ve had to deal with as a woman in STEM, before you go overreacting or claim that I’m “unfounded”. Ask every single fucking woman for examples of things that they have to do differently in order to not either put themselves at risk in a male-led world or to allow themselves the ability to continue on the clearest, easiest path without adding additional obstacles into their own path–I guarantee you, the list will continue growing.

To date, I have:

-Had a man come up to me and my blonde fellow scientist and grad school BFF at a professional, international conference, and tell us, (making the assumption that we did not already know), that “people will see your beauty and assume you are not smart. You will have to work twice as hard.” We know. This conversation is proof of that. I watched Legally Blonde when I was like, 9, dude.

-Have had my fellow coworkers, one of whom I got the job, team up and basically decide they no longer wanted to be my friend or communicate with me at work, and one even had her boyfriend, who I’ve been friends with for over 8 years, block me on social media because she was so insecure in my friendship with him, while I still worked with them both. He’s literally the only person I can nerd out about pharmaceutical and biochemistry stuff, you stupid bitch. I hope you don’t spend the rest of your life that catty.

-The aforementioned skirt incident

-Been told that I’m “difficult” or a “bitch” more times than I could count–professional and private life alike, even when I was in the right, even related to my studies. Shout out to Tina Fey, because bitches really DO get stuff done, and men still love them. I’m not settling, baby. Get on my level or get your ass back to the dugout. You’ll be back up to bat eventually. Know your place on the roster.

-Have essentially been disowned by my family all because I lived in Florida and posted pictures of my absolutely phenomenal ass because, 1. I can and 2. That’s me, and 3. I’m the one who has to answer for my actions, not you, so once again, shut the fuck up. I went to Europe 3 years in a row. I study the human body. I question the bounds of reality. It’s gonna get a lot fucking weirder throughout my life, you can’t stop it if you tried. So stop trying.

-Have to wear glasses (they’re blue light and do nothing other than prevent me from getting a headache), yet am instantly questioned less and have to defend myself on far fewer occasions than when I don’t.

-If I walk into a room of patients with a male, particularly one who is physically taller than me, HE is assumed to be the superior. They will still ask him for his opinion, even after acknowledging my role as the superior, even though, when the roles are reversed, they NEVER ask for my second opinion.

-People are more likely to ask for a second opinion in general, or have to search or “look further into” my knowledge before they determine that I was, in fact, correct. I speak with conviction and authority purposefully, and yet it still happens. My own mother is guilty of this. 

-A male with the aspirations I have would be met with a constructive tone of acceptance when he explains his life goals. The possibility of a family is never mentioned–he’ll have time for both whenever he decides to settle down. Instead, I get the laughing disbelief and “you’re really something, aren’t you”. Oh, I for sure fucking am, or at least will be. I will achieve every single one of my dreams, and thanks to Claire (my wonderful therapist), I won’t even COMPLETELY discount a family, because there is absolutely no reason why I SHOULDN’T achieve everything I want in life. 

-Nearly every single one of the men I’ve dated in my private life have LOVED that ambitious drive. It attracted every fiber of their being to me. It was a magnetic pull, entrancing, the song of a siren, calling them to their impending doom upon the shores. It’s also the reason every single one of them succumbed to weakness, straying from our relationship with dishonesty and lying of various forms, so pathetic and scared of their own weaknesses that they then used the very reasons they fell in love with me so quickly to also be the reason they leave down the road. And I’m supposed to feel bad for them? No.

I’d much rather be single than undervalued.
Fuck that. 

Like I said, I’ll just keep getting degrees. Asserting my dominance in the most tangible way for females to do so. Because I am questioned, I do need the letters behind my name to command the same, or at least near the level of respect my male counterparts are immediately granted just by their very existence. And because their voices carry more weight, I unfortunately also need them to open their ears and listen to what I’m telling you. And then to SPEAK about it, and be an advocate, to their male counterparts who discount the validity in my assertions. Who actually need to hear it from them because, even if they don’t completely change their mind, acknowledging that behavior isn’t appropriate or DOES exist, STILL, can at least make them that much more likely to identify it if and when they witness it for themselves. It’ll make them stop and think, whether they outwardly admit it to you or not. And eventually they can no longer continue to deny it without looking like an ignorant asshole. 

Luckily, my ass is nice enough that many (white) men do follow me and will actually still take the time to look into it, out of nothing more than curiosity, so it helps me blend into the audience I need to appeal to. The audience that needs to start educating themselves so it can no longer be my responsibility to condemn myself to the task. Thank you Old Row for posting that picture of me on the pizza floatie. I gained like a thousand followers in a few hours, though with starting over anonymously under a pseudonym, I’m no longer reaping the benefits of men sliding into my DMs as frequently, just to pay me for something harmless like pictures of my feet, or me belittling the size of their dick mercilessly. Seriously, y’all are some repressed mother fuckers. 

I’m happy to make the money off of it, but since so many of you do it, the fact that I do make money off of it shouldn’t need to be some mystifying taboo secret. We live in a capitalist society with terrible redistribution of wealth. The median household income in 2018 was $74,600. Which means that, if you lined up every US household’s yearly salary, from least to greatest, and took the middle number, it would be $74,600. Half of all of our households make less than that. The top 1% of families in our country hold 40% of the wealth. The bottom 90% hold LESS THAN 25%. We are in a global pandemic and the wealth of our handful of billionaires increased by trillions of dollars yet most individuals received only one $1200 stimulus check, and that’s only IF they filed their taxes last year. We instead prioritized corporations and businesses over the individual fucking people? What the fuck is wrong with our government. Get that money, sis. They won’t respect you either way, so you might as well cause a fuss while you do it. 

And I played fucking football in highschool so I think I can make that statement. 

Clearly, tying every aspect of ourselves as humans under some guise of “professionalism” doesn’t impact men in the same way that it impacts women. When is the last time someone would see a male in a bathing suit and determine they “weren’t going to use them as a surgeon” based on how their body looked. If anything, the worse it looks, the better. They probably spend all of their time in the hospital anyways. For women, you have to tread this delicate line of being pretty, but not too pretty. You have to be sexually appealing, but your boobs can’t be too large, or they dominate the frame of your face. You can’t look too nice, either, there has to be an edge of mystery. I get assumed to be “slutty” for wearing a bikini in Florida (which was cheeky, yes, but much less risque than the actual G strings of the strippers in the cabana next to me) when you check my instagram, even though I haven’t had sex in 2 years and am a serial committed relationship person in general. (Mostly because the men fall quickly and they fall hard. Like I said, they’re depraved of such intimate connection that the second they see they won’t be judged for it, they’re captivated by the allure, only to recognize the course of their path and draw screeching breaks like the train in Snowpiercer at the realization their independence may be threatened. It won’t. Because mine also won’t be. But this is besides the point). 

And I don’t feel the need to leave that stuff on “private”, because part of my entire purpose in life, and part of public health, is reducing the stigma around things that cause inherent struggles and cognitive dissonance within society. It would be limiting my potential to withhold it, more afraid of the acceptance and how it is perceived than having to compromise my own values. I would rather use myself as an example over and over again than ignore the realities of the world out of “convenience”, even when the things don’t necessarily involve me as much. Because the shape or appearance of my ass has absolutely no fucking relevance to my ability to decipher and analyze data, to formulate opinions, but it absolutely can help me captivate a larger audience. To use my platform and people who otherwise would not come into contact with me for a greater purpose. You all obviously read and listen to this. You’re taking in my mentality, savoring it (or despising, either way, you’re supporting and enabling me, so thank you). I hope I can somehow intrigue you within the process of learning enough that you continue to show your support. 

In fact, one of the main reasons I keep myself in such good physical shape is that when men can clearly acknowledge my physical superiority, and tangible strength, it’s slightly easier for them to acknowledge my mental strength as well. 

It started with the Presidential Physical Fitness test in third grade, sorry Madison, I could do more pull ups than you because I had 3 hours of gymnastics every night. 

Continued into high school, where I ran with the boys in track, because they were the only ones who would actually run more than 2 miles with me, or when I ran 5k’s around the various naval bases, emasculating the marines with my light, elvish footsteps in my Nike Frees. 

Or when I played football and kicked a game winner, so I was finally “accepted”, even though I could have been used just as much to run the ball in, and actually play any other position or even like quarterback because not only was I fast as fuck, but I can read a sports game better than most people. That’s where intellect gets you as an athlete. The Eli Manning of all of my sporting teams. 

Or maybe it was playing baseball when the mom on the opposing team filed a complaint about me jumping in when the team needed an extra player, all because I gunned her son down at home from center field. By the next game, I was officially registered and all of my runs counted. Go take your participation trophy home, lady.

Or on the futsal courts, when I had to body the fuck out of the physically stronger guys, who took those opportunities to let my ass graze up against their pre-teen cocks, only to be like “WOAH!” just because I was playing exactly the same fucking way they played with the guys. You don’t have to go easy on me, ya know. I actually hate that. 

And that demeanor commands respect, because men have become so warped that the only time they are allowed to openly experience emotion in our patriarchal society is through sport. Coupled with the endorphin high of physical performance, and that maybe being one of the only ways many of them have ever been validated or heard words of affirmation, it’s no wonder they tie physical performance to desirability so much. So keeping myself in shape has its advantages. Having a six pack, which, for women is even more difficult than for men, because generally men don’t have a lil layer of fat protecting their uterus, and the muscle definition I have draws the acknowledgement that I can hold my own in battle. I am a gladiator, a soldier. But I shouldn’t have to make myself physically intimidating to hold my own in a progressive world. 

And I also shouldn’t have to soften my striking intimidation, my unconventional warfare, just because it comes across that much harsher from the face of a beautiful woman. You really fail to recognize that Athena, the goddess of war strategy, was ALSO the goddess of wisdom, poetry, and art? The woman born wearing battle armor was still able to understand and appreciate the softer side of the world. It’s all connected to emotional intelligence. That’s how you achieve true strength. 

So instead of stigmatizing women, or limiting anyone’s identity to strictly their professional role, how about we stop being so obsessed with specialization of just one thing that we neglect the multifaceted reality. Specializing and becoming the best is only really important for its generalizability. But the very fact that you seek the spotlight means you don’t want to exist in complete anonymity, that’s where the hermits who wander amongst the Appalachian trail reside. And if we seek greatness, which, historically, the USA has been rather inundated with thrusting upon everyone else in the world, then we actually need to start being great. Of achieving higher levels of self actualization. Of requiring greater standards for the level of humanity in our society, which starts with not creating an environment where your worth, and subsequent political vote, is SOLELY dependent financial status. And those who are truly great do not refuse to acknowledge their flaws.

So knowing that these issues exist, we need to do better. Men, specifically, need to do better. But also the women who use their positions or desperation for a grasp of power to harm other women, instead of climbing the ladder together. Even Drake has been trying to tell y’all that it shouldn’t be lonely at the top–that defeats the purpose. I talk about my experiences all the time, not to highlight the wrong doings of others (that is just a pleasant lil latent effect) but so everyone can learn from my mistakes or the events in my life to better themselves. It’s as self-critical as it is confident. I approach my personal life with the same scientific separation in the quest for knowledge that I do my IRB-approved studies. 

And more often than not, ESPECIALLY in therapy, I struggle to get through these discussions.

It’s HARD to be so resilient and strong.

I didn’t name this blog or podcast “Survival Mode” because I was frolicking through the fucking flowers my entire life.

It’s not easy to sit down and have these discussions with yourself, let alone others. But it’s a lot harder to live in a world that ignores it. 

Nobody is fucking happy for a reason. People are escaping to social media instead of reality for connection because reality sucks. But you have every ability to change the reality you live in, even just a little, and even by example. Let’s stop setting unrealistic standards for humans, even in professional roles. Let’s require accountability, introspection, vulnerability, even from our leaders. Because our leaders should be setting the greatest example of all. 

And life is a competition, yes, but we don’t have to measure the value in it by productivity. The best creation is not rushed. There is value to slowing down, beauty in recognizing and accepting the madness. It is luminescent, ethereal. We need to value humanity for the things that actually make us human in society–our connection, expression of emotion, ability to learn and grow together. Our capitalist society doesn’t need to dictate EVERY SINGLE THING such that every aspect of our lives must be monetized, or you only release art when you think it’s profitable. Learn to express yourselves. Learn to express humility. Compassion. Empathy. It’s far more complex and intriguing than anger.

Learn to once more value being human. 

Sources:

https://medicine.umich.edu/dept/surgery/news/archive/201904/women-vascular-surgery-symposium

https://www.jvascsurg.org/article/S0741-5214(19)32587-X/fulltext#:~:text=Potentially%20unprofessional%20content%20appeared%20in,(6%20accounts%2C%202.5%25)%2C

JOE ROGAN:

Survival Mode
JOE ROGAN:
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What is wrong with the USA and why would he ever be a worthy moderator of a presidential debate?

If any of you have perused the athletic “scandal” that is my instagram (which, my siblings would have you believe automatically makes me the devil incarnate and dishonoring the entire family more than Mulan… both of which occurred for just being women, I would like to note….)  then you’d probably know I’m not too fond of Joe Rogan. So my disdain at the very thought that he would facilitate a presidential debate was even more disheartening. I already wanted to put my head through a god damn wall, like Mike Sorentino did that one season of Jersey Shore where they went to Italy (Season 4? Maybe? It’s been a while), but this just tips the scales ever so slightly. 

So who is Joe Rogan?

Brief overview:

-American comedian

-Host of one of the world’s most popular podcasts, several of which hosted some of the 2020 Democratic presidential candidates (Andrew Yang, Tulsi Gabbard, and Bernie Sanders)

-Has had a plethora of political figures, public figures, and scientists relevant to US history, and possibly, the rest of this discussion, including Edward Snowden, Elon Musk, and my personal favorite, Iliza Shlesinger

-Commentator for Ultimate Fighting Championship (UFC), the patrons of which arguably make up the largest part of his audience (from my personal experience / interactions with men in the wild)

-Probably the ONLY reason he has any actual political pull is because our government and cultural values as a country are so fucking corrupt that we somehow don’t see this as a global embarassment. And money = power in good ole capitalism, so this guy MUST get it, right?

Why Am I skeptical About This? 

To sum it up, you’re about to dive into a rabbit hole of how Joe Rogan embodies the American experience of exactly what pisses me off most about our patriarchal culture and why he is absolutely the wrong choice as moderator of a presidential debate, but particularly a presidential debate in the setting of a global pandemic (which he previously downplayed), where distribution of wealth is a regular issue (the guy plays with which state to relocate to like its a board game–this is people’s livelihood at stake, have some class), and we already have one too many white men who think they’re going to be the one with the world-class mentality of saving (literally, we just want OUR OWN VOICES, you do not need to step in, asserting yourself to “represent” us…how about you help get US into those positions?)

But I digress…

Let’s Take One Giant Leap Back Mankind…

To properly get into this, I’m going to delve into my own background as an athlete, and what I’ve come to focus on with my own world views now that I’m well into my 20’s (and OBVIOUSLY know all.) It’ll be worth it, I promise. By now, you should realize all of my writing comes full circle at some point.

From the time I could walk, I was playing sports, with the decision that I was Olympic quality being made prior to my conception. My dad played in the minor league baseball circuits on his summers home in NY from Embry Riddle, and he played with a AAA team that fed the Yankees. My mom, a mathematician in D.C., graduated from Penn State after being an NCAA Division 1 collegiate runner. The genetics were in place, and my siblings and I were destined for greatness. 

Growing up, running was always my way to stay “in shape”. Sure, I competed for my middle school track (2 practices then showing up at a meet against the other local middle schools) and in high school (cross country, indoor and outdoor track), but I never actually “trained” for it with any actual structure. My high school coach had been the same person who coached my mom “back in the day”, and he literally let us, kids under the age of 18 with no personal experience or knowledge on what healthy running is, to choose the workouts. Our boys team played a variation of four square for practice. I stayed in shape, though, playing multiple sports a season, attending two official practices a day once I got to high school, often 3 (usually 1-2 for my actual highschool and 1-2 travel teams). I never once slowed down. This was my norm, though, and seems to be the norm for most of America in this rat race of endless exhaustion we call a “free market”. 

When I was old enough to walk, I was enrolled in gymnastics. 3 hours a day, 6 days a week. Some days I cried about being at practice. Other days, all I wanted to do was climb that creepily high rope and make the long drop into the foam pit. I had a six pack by age 5 and spent my brother’s baseball games practicing my back handsprings along the baseline past the dugouts.

We also grew up on a farm, so not only did I have to attend practices for all of my sports, but riding horses regularly was considered a chore, not a “practice”, and horses take a lot of daily work. It’s a rare person I come across that understands the full impact growing up on a farm has on a person. If it was light outside, though, and I wasn’t at practice for one of my other sports, I was usually found somewhere on or near my ponies. So after I was exhausted with practices, I usually had to go take care of the horses, and only THEN could I eat, shower, or sleep. 

Side note: I actually think that’s why wrestling attracts so many midwestern boys–they’re used to working these insane schedules and intensities of workouts from what it means to be “country” folk, but they’re all of the country folk who question authority (in a good way, often, just not one that’s necessarily viewed as beneficial to all of society when not constructively channelled) We’ll touch back on wrestling in a bit.

In middle school, the decision came to discontinue competitive gymnastics, due to time constraints with my growing equestrian career. Inserted in its time slot on my schedule was travel soccer, something I’d be able to do with the rest of the crowd in high school. 

Quitting gymnastics at ~13 years old also let me finally hit puberty, so I scaled from 4’11” to 5’7” in the course of my eighth grade year and entered high school ready to continue leveling up my athletic career. 

In high school, I went from sport-to-sport searching for that desperate endorphin high to target my frustration at everything (my parents, siblings, the mean girls in my grade, one of whom was my best friend/”frenemy”, boys, the world, Hannah Montana being cancelled, you name it). Like Taylor Swift, “I was an impossible pace”, and only forced to slow down when 9th grade year of travel soccer, some stupid bitch illegally slide tackled me from straight behind me (terrible form, what are you, a Duke basketball player? What a dirty fucking play). I fell straight onto my left clavicle, completely severing it in half and displacing it by two inches. Now, I’m not a very big person. My clavicles are rather dainty, in fact. (My upper body is actually the one place I hold absolutely no weight.) It was gross, my arm was just hanging limply. Well, if there was any question as to whether that love for the adrenaline rush had fucked me up, it was answered in that moment, because I STILL tried to play. We were already a man down, having had a red card and been down a man to start the match, and I couldn’t sit on the sideline and just watch. Plus, I had been sent with another parent via carpool, so my mom wasn’t even there to take me to the hospital! The only choice was obviously to fucking play!

If you wonder where the determination comes from, I’ve always had it. Earlier that fall, I had “just decided” one day that I wanted to play football. I’d jumped into some of my older brother’s practices growing up, so why wouldn’t I be able to do it at the high school level? I could hold my own against him, Royce, and Alex, who were the best on the Waldorf Wildcats. All of the boys in high school had just been on different teams they’d beaten. So, I joined the freshman football team, much to the dismay of several of the boy’s parents, and wore glitter eyeshadow to every single game. Even though my dad drove me over thirty minutes from my high school soccer game to my high school football game in the neighboring county (it was the first game, I couldn’t completely miss it!) and my kick never had a shot because I got my experience of what I can only imagine is a fraction of what freshmen fraternity members all across the USA experience in hazing. 

As I leaned forward, moving to kick, with the snap of the ball, my entire line decided to stand up and move aside, letting 3 huge line men have a clear shot to my very first kick in a game ever! I got anime-style judo-thrown about ten yards directly backwards by 3 ~200+ pound linemen who had just seen me, ~110 lb, 5’7” frame, long blonde hair swinging, GIRL, running across the track to my team’s huddle. And despite being tall, I was scrawny in the way most 9th grade girls are, and we had to borrow my shoulder pads from the local poundball team. (Small clavicles, remember.) It was one of those moments where the entire stadium is quiet, sure that I was dead. When Laquan (my amazing holder, side note, he transferred and his replacement deserves the following message: fuck you Madison Townley–you and I both know exactly what you did) came up to offer me a hand and check on me, already waving the coaches over, ASSUMING I was hurt, he was rather surprised to find me laughing hysterically and basically being like “what the fuck guys, do you think I’ve never been tackled before”. It’s almost like these men forgot I grew up with an older brother. Or riding horses. Or doing gymnastics. I’m USED to eating complete shit and taking it like a mother fucking champ.

Two games later, I kicked the 27-yard game winning field goal against an otherwise-undefeated magnet school that could essentially recruit its football team, who later went on to win States our senior years. Which, if you grew up in a small town, you know basically certifies your celebrity status amongst the good ole hometown boys. 

In track earlier that winter, I made it to the top of SMAC as a freshman in every distance event. My coach believed it was our duty to help out our team as much as possible, so, knowing I would kill myself to score as much as I could, he put me in the 4x800m, the 1600m, the 3200m, and the 800m. I ran 4 miles of racing 1-2 times a week for 3 months and just kept moving up in the rankings. At nights, there were futsal practices and weekends were balanced with a series of co-ed games. I “had” the time, so why not? 

Spring track was just like the winter, and despite being “coached” by other high school athletes (which is, honestly, the most inappropriate thing for any kind of distance running), I was still performing at generally unprecedented levels for a freshman. The signs were all there for me to just keep staying right on track. (Pun intended). The clavicle break happened just after my spring season ended, in the midst of travel soccer, so my summer was spent recovering and I only really missed a season of travel soccer.

Plus, a broken bone, by highschool, was standard procedure. I had already broken 3 bones in my foot on two separate occasions. (The person responsible for one of those actually had a terrible bout with cancer and ultimately passed a few years back, so I look on the memory more fondly now.) I inherited my father’s clumsiness, so I’d broken multiple toes separate from those foot fractures. Seriously…one time I broke my toe climbing out of giving my dog a bath in the tub. It got caught in my towel and twisted. I’m an accident waiting to happen. For the most part, though, gymnastics had taught me how to beat the shit out of my body, but safely. I’ll never forget seeing what others must’ve all the times I skirted injuries prior, than when I watched my best friend Anna sprinting after a guy in our dorm, only to slowly lean forward drunkenly and seamlessly move into a diving forward roll. She continued her drunken sprint otherwise undisturbed and without missing a beat. My own father has broken all of his fingers several times, his nose roughly ten times, and a plethora of other fractures all over his body, and my mother grew up on the very Appaloosa horse farm that I was now growing up on, and you see a LOT of gruesome injuries on farms. Injuries like this were simply a part of life and part of loving the sport so much. My lack of nerve endings and ability to tolerate pain in a variety of abnormal ways is probably part of what contributes to my love of all sexual exploration now, too, interestingly enough. But I digress…

By the time I finished high school, I lettered in 14 different varsity sports. Mind you, we only had 3 seasons. In track alone, I was moved from distance (my 4×800, 800m, 1600m, 3200m quadruple each meet, into a mixture of hurdles, steeplechase, 4x200m, 4x400m, and even high jump, adapting and excelling universally. Collecting trophies became an expectation and they no longer held significant meaning. I knew I had earned them because the work was tangibly there in documented physical performance, sweat, and muscle fatigue. I had moved into the ODP-trajectory of soccer, acquired my C-1 certification in pony club, competed in equestrian nationals. I had placed 14th individually at cross country states, the 4th hardest high school cross country course in the nation, on 1 week of practices after my soccer season was out, I had All-County, All-Conference Honors, the Wendy’s High School Heisman State and National Finalist, accolade after accolade. And at the time, I’m sure I enjoyed sports for the recognition. Winning each race or game or match was this necessity to somehow justify the hours of work had paid off. I was occasionally in the paper for things like when I stopped to help my fellow SMAC competitor mid-race of that same State championship cross country race, but the idea of “sportsmanship” felt weird, because I still made sure I didn’t fucking let her beat me when she regained her composure on the course.

In college, my freshman year was the first time I didn’t feel a need to compete. Yet, after finally loosening up my reservations and drinking alcohol for the first time in my life, I determined that partying was fun (still love it, find me at E11even in Miami instead of a frat party, though), but I craved the structure of routine and performance that sports had always given me. My goals in life did not revolve around grinding up on our 7’ tall NBA-bound basketball athletes under the neon fixture intricately balanced above a questionably constructed frat-house-basement stage, much as those men may have wanted them to (Seriously, PJ Hairston, stop sliding in my DMs asking me to suck your dick every time I post a throw back from Dance Marathon). The amount of now-famous dicks I could’ve sucked if I didn’t have a solid amount of self-respect. (But also, no slut shaming here, I was just mentally recovering from a very abusive relationship and gobbling an endless array of dicks Nathan’s hot-dog-contest style just wouldn’t fulfill me.) Although, it’s a lot less cool to tell people that Tre Boston, a safety for the Carolina Panthers, tries to ass-fuck women on the dance floor of La Rez and literally just shoved me over and pounded up against me, as if he was actually fucking me. I’m not sure who taught you to dance, buddy, but in the DMV we get a lot more sensual than that. It’s more “Cassie’s “Me + U”” theme than whatever Metallica-level of hatred you had for crushing your dick against my backside in the ten seconds before I pulled the plug, completely disturned. I will say, the guy was one of my African studies partners (Honestly, an incredible class. Shout out to Pierce Freelon.) SURPRISINGLY I KNOW FOR UNC AND NCAA ATHLETES, ESPECIALLY THE FOOTBALL TEAM  *shocked pikachu gif* and to this day, I’m genuinely curious as to what about me seemed like that was appropriate? Or what about being the ONLY person in La Rez dancing made that seem like it was appropriate? Let’s use some context clues next time before I have to lower your audacity like a character control on Madden. 

Anywho, I enjoyed my LFIT class because it was group PE, and I normally had to work out alone. I did club gymnastics, too, though without a proper coach, I couldn’t trust my shoulder enough to throw or try what I used to so freely. Liability wise, public universities should probably at least make sure there are credentialed coaches/mentors overseeing their collegiate activities for students. One more way to create fun jobs that don’t make people hate their lives! Still, I missed competition that I could take seriously. I missed being a part of that togetherness, the environment of a team. The Club track team was a possibility, but I had never really “meshed” with just girls, as I come off naturally very dominant, try as I might not, and my first practice (I hadn’t run that summer, remember, I didn’t have to in high school sports) I got dropped on a trail 3 miles off the school’s property and had no knowledge of the town itself yet, so no way to know where I was, what direction to head, or even who the girls were I’d been with. I didn’t blame them, though, I was holding them back. It just didn’t make me want to return. 

That said, the summer leading up to my sophomore year, I contacted the track coach from the magnet school in my county (the ones who misuse their vocational school programs to recruit for their athletic programs) and was set onto what would then build into a 2-year training program, at its peak of 85 miles-per-week and running a 68 minute 10-mile race on a difficult course. I had finally found a group of equally nerdy, balanced introverted/extroverted kids who needed to channel their energy into something productively. Even amongst the D1 circuit, it was with these oddballs now dispersed all over the globe that I finally found a positive sporting community. 

And distance running, unlike other sports, gives you time to think. Distance runners tend to be the nerdier groups, the scientists, the introverts, because you can be completely unathletic and still be great at it. Seriously. Picture your cross country runners from high school. Those nerdy, lanky kids just turn into nerdy, lanky adults. I say that fondly, as a fellow geek. I’m just “cool-passing” because I’m physically attractive to most males under the white, blonde, American Barbie model. You also self-reflect during all of those miles–at some point having to confront your thoughts because it’s just you and the dirt trail winding through the woods in front of you. We spend the most time in the natural world, so it makes sense that we often become the biologists, the conservationists, the environmentalists who eventually transition into doing triathlons, ultramarathons, or hiking the US National Parks in our later years. 

My parents were amongst many of those who believed that sports were my ticket to pay for college. They had tried to save money, but even they couldn’t have anticipated how expensive colleges got. Or how I would be recruited for both academics and athletics NATIONALLY, yet then they would have the audacity to limit me to an in-state or more affordable option, after my years of work and performance. Even when soccer recruiting fell through, because they couldn’t afford to pay for all of my travel teams AND send me to camps over the summer, my mom was convinced that my switch into track would get me to the Olympics. (Even this summer, she literally said the words “there’s always cross country skiing”. Mother, there is also coronavirus.) 

But unlike probably a lot of other athletes, I didn’t ever give a fuck about the Olympics, I just enjoyed being athletic. I like the way it makes my body feel, the strength it gives me. I never thought about it past the practice at hand, the game coming up, when the season was progressing. Being an athlete was such a necessary part of who I was, and am, as a person, that no lack of title or performance achievement takes that away. After all of my accolades, the titles became meaningless after a while. Much like the current holder of the “presidency”, supposedly the most coveted position in the world, they lose their worth when they fail to recognize or be filled with actual value. Some of the best athletes I’ve ever met fall unnoticed, through the cracks of exhaustion. It wasn’t lack of talent, either, it was the inability to avoid other responsibilities in their daily lives. Needing to commit to work to provide for their families, and not even their own children, but their parent’s children or sibling’s babies, or being unable to risk the potential health scare and not currently being insured, the looming threat of your already meager savings, despite working multiple jobs and well over the 40 hour work week, being decimated by the cost of healthcare too great a reality. How many people did I swipe through on Bumble who were into their 30’s yet still claimed “washed up athlete” in their bio? 

But, my brother had walked on to his NCAA D1 collegiate baseball team after choosing a school for mechanical engineering, somehow getting paid for his contribution while also playing 91 games a season and having to stay in Columbia over the summer until eventually going to Omaha, Nebraska, for back-to-back-to-back College World Series Championship games (2 of which were victorious). Obviously, I needed to follow in his footsteps, as that was expected. Everything he had done in life, I had also done, or exceeded, in some way. The spotlight must be mine. Nevermind that I was already studying biochemistry at a top 5 public university, which would win the Nobel Prize (Did I spell that right, Mr. Trump?) during my time there, I also needed to do more. He got to take batting practice with Bryce Harper, Jackie Bradley Junior, Grayson Greiner, and Christian Walker, all of whom are now living out his dreams of playing in the MLB while he hates his mechanical engineering position. 

So where do we draw the lines of “success”? At what point can I stop competing with my siblings in the eyes of my parents? And society? Why is everyone always so obsessed with the stats of the players instead of who they are outside of that few hours of media devotion? 

Sports in the USA

Now, when I look back on that time, and all of my achievements in sports, in today’s day and age, I have to stop and think about what it really means for me to “be an athlete”. 

This topic has come up a lot recently, particularly with the media and Colin Kaepernick’s Black Lives Matter protests. A popular sentiment is the idea that an athlete such as Kaepernick should “stay in their lane”. Your job is to play the game. We, as the consumers, are here to judge you. You’re a vessel for being bet on.

That sentiment is rooted in the necessity of US culture to route you into one career at age 18 for the rest of your life. Like Eminem says, “you only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow”. Gotta love that good ole influence of a patriarchal society built around militaristic values. That government propaganda to encourage “Patriotism” under duress of war, entrapping you in a career of military life because you no longer fit in with the normal population and they make no efforts to rehabilitate you (unless moving out West counts) and foundations of individual priorities, for a NATION of 3 billion people (ya, sounds VERY sustainable, you dumb twats) seeps into the economy by normalizing thousands of dollars of debt, remaining in a job EVEN IF YOU HATE IT, as long as it pays “decently” because you should be “LUCKY”, to even have one. Or how we should be lucky with our ability to speak out in favor of different conditions portrayed as “radical” social movements instead of “progress”, because the alternative is what, a communist regime? 

So as an athlete, you’re gifted with the ability to use your presence, but not necessarily your voice. It’s a bit of a “the consumer is always right” mentality that gluttonizes our Super-Size-Me brethren of West Virginia gremlins (there is a lot of good about hicks, for the record) instills this false narcissism that they should also dictate programming. And who can argue with that logic, when the end goal is ratings and viewership? The phrase #MoreThanAnAthlete becomes a social media movement, because it’s necessary. The very idea that an athlete, or any public figure, for that matter, is an actual human being and not a corporate-controlled lizard-person is blasphemous to the people who actually need to be reminded. 

But this has been a COMMON THEME throughout sports history! How has our education failed us such that people can so easily forget the incredibly vast history of utilizing sports to make a political stance throughout history? Why was THIS news? How is it that we thought it was controversial that a BLACK MAN wanted to protest statistically proven police brutality against BLACK INDIVIDUALS? WHY WAS THAT FRAMED AS AN UPROAR? Why did we even have to justify whether an athlete should have their own voice and still be supported, particularly when it highlighted a national issue with decades of indisputable statistical evidence? Why was America’s response outrage? 

The History of the NFL:

The reality of the backlash to Kaepernick’s protest being in the NFL is that organizations like the NFL, or American football, and even the MLB, (the “World” Series is literally just the United States, let’s retitle that, okay? How about we start youth programs in other countries? Provide them with baseballs, bats, and explain the rules?) is that both organizations are USA-centered. They aren’t played in the Olympics because they’re not Olympic sports. They’re the foundation of “the USA is best” because the USA is the only one doing it. And in a nation with such strong foundations of cultural racism, such as a league where 70% of the players are colored, yet only 2 of the teams have colored ownership, it’s a parallel of slavery. 

In the NFL, 22 of the teams have been owned by the same family for the past 20 years. Even in 2018, only 2 of the 32 teams were owned by people of color. Which means as a football player, you’ve literally signed a contract exchanging your physicality for a sum. It’s a rather large sum, but still. Since the average player retires by the age of 26, that means you need to figure out a way to physically push your body to unsustainable levels for the “glory” of performing in stadiums of sweaty, greasy, overweight middle aged men who lost sight of their dicks years ago. But hey! Those men have money. And if you’re getting paid for it, I guess you shouldn’t consider it “slavery”…even though the principles you stand for as a person have effectively been brutally criticized by the media and reduced to nonimportance just because your ring of white owners frowned at it. 

I’m from a sports family too, so I’ll admit, when he first started kneeling for the National Anthem, in my mind I sat there and went “hmm, well let’s see. In 2012 he replaced Alex Smith as the 49er’s quarterback out of opportunity (Smith had a concussion), leading them to a superbowl appearance–their first since 1994. In 2013 he had a decent season, but then the years that followed had him in/out of the starting position. By 2016, he was yesterday’s news, a decent quarterback, but the NFL is full of those. This MUST be a publicity stunt just to make it hard to cut him.” 

Even if that were true, though, what is the harm in what he did? 

Why would it bother me that a mixed black child who was adopted by a white family, went on to excel in academics and multiple sports until he landed at the University of Nevada, Reno on a full scholarship wanted to talk about race? Children (and adults) who are adopted, first of all, already have a series of psychological considerations to their upbringings that would inevitably cause some confusion or cognitive dissonance, even with access to all of the “best” therapists and early interventionists. Children (and adults) who are anything other than white also face a HUGE array of subtle reminders of just where in society other people think they “rightfully belong” at every step in their life. I got bullied as a child and even though I KNEW it was rooted in jealousy, it still hurt. Could you imagine people doing that at every stage of your life and never growing out of it no matter how “successful” you get? 

As a woman in STEM, I’m now well aware of the discomforts of trying to forge your way into rooms that were gated to keep you out. Of the pressure to be something because anything else is a “waste”. Of wanting to have your voice be acknowledged and respected without feeling the need to validate yourself with an endless supply of evidence, scientific theory, and quantitative data. Your male colleagues can just give the answer and know it won’t be questioned. You have to have 2-3 different bullet points to support.

My first conscious experience of this was really in college (only because I was blind to what the criticism towards me as a person was rooted in years prior). Prior to college, I didn’t really have black men in my classes. Bhaskar, my Indian gamer friend, who was great with computers in high school–which, to the extent of my knowledge meant he could install Snake on my TI-83 graphing calculator, was the only real minority. My football teammates were black, though, they just weren’t in the “advanced” classes. Maybe 1-2 black kids played soccer. I also dated a Hispanic-appearing boy from the neighboring high school, and my mom taught at all of the lower-income area schools in the county for most of my adolescence. 

I thought that, because I also had a difficult home life, in a low-income area, and we went to the same schools, that they had the same opportunities that I had–especially since I was friends with so many different people. In reality, every opportunity I had was the initiative of my parent’s necessity for some standard of “greatness”. Those kids might have ONLY been able to do that one thing that I just happened to do with them. My parent’s home, and all of our space for my creativity, was funded by my Grandfather’s distinguished military career. Sure, I put in the work behind the scenes, but the opportunities were dropped in my lap and all I had to do was show up. Nobody looked at me and doubted me once I got going. I had to keep my peppy mouth shut, but only until after I proved my worth on the field. And because I was so multifaceted, instead of being silenced, my voice was encouraged. My junior high school year, I wrote for my tri-county newspaper’s “Athlete’s Diary”, a weekly column that I could tailor to my own interests. I was ENCOURAGED to use my voice as an athlete, and because of my physical ability, it was respected on and off the field by those who were aware. 

How would it ever be “normalized” to think otherwise? 

It’s Not Just an “NFL” Problem:

As a child, I viewed sports with the “Field of Dreams”, “Angels in the Outfield”, and “Little Giants” mentality. The American dream of underdog’s prevailing is universally appreciated, a real fan favorite. How is it, then, that we meet it with such disdain when its presented to us in the form of racial inequality? How can the same percentage of people who cling to those replays for nostalgic comfort be so blind as to condemn it when it doesn’t even interfere with the timing of the game? 

And at what point in the USA did we become so enthralled with sports, our consumerism culture, and our own egos as a nation that we neglected to realize sports are pastimes, a luxury, the result of having the time to focus on such things because the rest of our lives are going well enough that we can devote the time to games? At least within our country.

Was it always like this? 

The very idea that we have so much time on our hands that we can have professional athletes, let alone intellectual professional athletes from all corners of our land coming together to run, skip, hop, jump, shoot, spin, whatever, for “glory”, all because they’ve been privileged enough to have the time to devote to something like running, or swimming cannot exist without the rest of the community functioning within the realms of proper “civilization”. As someone with multiple higher education degrees, I understand that I only get to study epidemiology and biochemistry BECAUSE there are people who provide my food, make my clothes, take care of our national security, pick up the trash, sow the grain that I feed my horses, make the communities that I travel between so safe. 

Yet, somehow in the event of a global pandemic, the chronic health effects of which we are sure to uncover, in horror, for YEARS (which Joe Rogan did a SIGNIFICANT amount of discounting, for the record), our athletes emerged as on the table of “essential” workers. When our nation should have been “putting the team on our back”, literally by doing what our fat fucking American selves have prepared our ENTIRE lives for, which is, to stay at fucking home and drink, watch movies, play video games, and fuck and/or masturbate for 2-3 weeks, instead we demanded sports teams to travel across the country, downplaying the risk to not just the players but the hotel staff, the bartenders, even the coaches, whose very designation as “needing” to go back to work (for the money) meant they definitely wouldn’t have been able to afford their healthcare bills should they GET coronavirus. Not to mention you’re also endangering the lives of their families, those they interact with in public (purposefully or by chance), and contact tracing is a butterfly effect twistering out of control. Plus, in Florida, where the NBA opted to move the bubble to Disney for, they tied the relief funding to a business’s ability to return back to work at X capacity, effectively removing any “freedom of choice” from whether they TRULY felt it was “safe” or not. Or how we just created an entire generation of people that may doubt science should a biological warfare attack, the newest, growing range of warfare for the last few decades, occur and necessitate our use of masks to prevent a plague. The point is, nothing about that situation was handled with any level of sanity or logic, and as a nation, we should’ve used the time to highlight WHY we still prioritize athletics. How to be active within the confines of your quarantine. Notable movements spawned by athletes throughout our history.

Athletics were our distractions, our GAMES, a luxury. Not essential. 

Becoming a professional athlete in the United States is just another competition that removes the purpose behind athletics if you don’t get to use it for anything meaningful, like a voice. And removing the purpose behind athletics just makes it like anything else–any old job. But ambivalence doesn’t sell out stadiums. Fans don’t cry because they’re neutral about a rivalry. So, like almost every facet of our culture, the USA has warped our view of sports to be a capitalist-driven market place such that our professional networks are effectively modern-day slavery, particularly women’s sports, that ONLY exist for the American consumer because it is tied to your paycheck, healthcare, housing, and dependent on your marketability. Endorsements by major brands are now necessary for athletic advantage and generally a collegiate education is the way to get there. Unless your sport peaks at particularly strange times–gymnastics being less than 18 for global representation and triathletes commonly beginning their athletic journeys much later than most, by your early 20’s, you’re tapped out of potential. Which means that, from a very early age, you’re subject to representing a variety of brands on a state, national, or potentially global scale. 

But how do you sift through that to determine what YOU stand for? 

& When would you have the time? 

Sponsorships by something like food companies that allow you to eat better quality, healthier meals for free (or reduced) prices are a huge advantage, particularly since the American education system teaches so little about proper nutrition and our government subsidizes areas of the food industry that are less healthy for the American consumer. So, you’ll likely jump at the first contract you get, especially if you barely make over the poverty level of financial income from the season, even if the company is unethical, or doesn’t support your values, all because the promise of being the 1% of people that can get that money gives you hope that you can not hate your life so much, and thank you to Arianna for finally putting it out there that “whoever said money can’t solve your problems must not have had enough money to solve ‘em.” One brand builds into multiple sponsorships and hopefully these corporate brands don’t drop you when you speak out in favor of your own safety, health, or experience–even when it’s the morally and ethically “right” thing to do.

But this is America, the same country that allowed Hobby Lobby’s CEO, a religious conservative, to deny healthcare coverage on the basis of sex and his own personal religious beliefs to all of his female employees, despite Hobby Lobby being a national corporation that largely serves a customer base of females. Who am I to determine what constitutes ethics? Or where to draw the line? “Only God can judge you”, but “God” isn’t the only one who has to face the consequences of your actions. Whatever helps you sleep at night. 

And particularly right now, America is claiming outrage over our “pedophilia” problem as if this is new? Or that Trump is somehow exempt from these corrupt circles of millionaires and generational wealth despite being from them himself? Or that our pageantry circuits, cheerleading, gymnastics fixation wasn’t somehow capable of being massively exploited? Is it even capable to reduce exploitation in a world enshrouded in greed? We have Larry Nassar sexually assaulting HUNDREDS of young girls, for YEARS, often WITH THEIR PARENTS IN THE SAME ROOM. It’s shuddering to think that could’ve very easily have been one of those girls had I taken just one different step in life. 

If college is your route, to get recruited you likely needed to be able to afford their costly summer camps, and have transportation to/from on top of the expensive costs of your travel select team, your own vehicle and gas, because your parents just couldn’t justify driving 1.5 hours in rush hour traffic after your high school practice to get to travel ball. They had 2 other children to think about (and pay for). Rarely do you hear the true underdog story any longer. You grew up on “Backyard Baseball” thinking you were going to be Pablo Sanchez and instead you realized you were in “Dodgeball” facing the Purple Cobras, only you didn’t catch that rubber ball flying at you, you watched it zoom at your face with your hands tied behind your back and no way to defend yourself. So when the kind stranger that is Jerry Sandusky desecrates your innocence in a Penn State locker room, only to be hidden for years because it was easier to pay off people and “hope for the best” than to actually do the right fucking thing, you stay quiet and thank yourself for him even noticing you. It must make you special. 

Stockholm Syndrome is a fucking bitch. Only it’s not just innocent children being abused for years unable to break free from the memories. It’s the entirety of the American people doing the work and labor to be enjoyed at the whims of others who put in no actual work of their own, yet somehow magically control what happens to the numbers in your bank account. 

Let’s take Lebron as an example. Ringleader of the NBA, gets his dick sucked by ESPN every day of the week even when he’s out of season, well-respected and particularly revered in the tragic light of Kobe Bryant’s death, should’ve never agreed to start the stupid basketball games back up. You can’t tell me the same younger players who were snapchatting from the bubble the shitty cafeteria-style food they had, captioned with “you know Lebron ain’t eating this”, would’ve agreed to play if you had gone on tv and spoke out about sports needing to take a backseat as an example for the health of our nation. He, and every other member of the NBA, should’ve joined in protests, leading teams to peaceful sit-ins to demonstrate the necessity to address the causes when coronavirus and the BLM movements first started. Thinking the solution was to dribble a basketball and shoot it at a plexiglass board is completely forgetting the purpose of sports. 

Bottom line: We need to recenter our priorities as humans.

Think Bigger: The Olympics

The ancient Olympic Games were “a religious festival to honor Zeus, father of all other Greek gods and goddesses”. The athletes were all men and beginning 776 BC, they raced (yay for track! The most underappreciated sport.) The Olympics literally started off as a single race, followed by DAYS of partying. Modern day fraternity tailgates are the closest thing we have to this. 

Then, from 393 AD until 1896, they had rescinded into the shadows, an all-forgotten event, until Athens, Greece once again initiated hosting. 

Since 1896, the Olympics have only been cancelled due to world wars: 1916, 1940, 1944. 

The Olympic Oath, taken by officiants, athletes, and coaches alike, address doing it for the “glory of sport, for the honour of our teams, and in respect for the Fundamental Principles of Olympism.” The values of which are excellence, friendship, and respect with the goal of “building a better world”. With some clever deductive reasoning, the purpose of the Olympics, the foundation of which performative sport in the USA is largely built on, is thus to facilitate comradery in the form of sport. I have a hard time believing the first Olympics, with just a single track race as the competition, would have a several-day-long festival that was an insurmountable dick-measuring contest by the winner who then asserted their physical dominance into every country “just because they can” in some jestering tones for several days. Nobody likes that dude at fraternity parties in modern day, and nobody would’ve liked him then, though Joe Rogan is the type of guy who often gives that guy a spotlight. (I also only say that with the tone of surprise because the USA wasn’t founded in 776 BC, so we weren’t around to take something as cool as the Olympics and Jersey Shore it into that.)

In many countries, sports may be the only way to garner international attention and hopefully, leverage eventual refugee or immigrant status. Every year, the African athletes talk about things like bringing internet to their remote villages, or digging a well for clean drinking water. Distance runners talk about running without shoes and as an epidemiologist, I sit there and picture the videos of guinea worm and other parasitic diseases native to their land their bare feet doesn’t protect them from…but they don’t have access or the money to spend on luxuries like shoes, so there’s no other way. 

Meanwhile, the USA collects our 46 gold medals in Rio and accepts our global title as the “freest country in the world, best in the land, paradise, yadda yadda” all while subjecting an athlete on our own soil, the “land of the free”, playing a sport ONLY played within the United States, to public condemnation, despite the fact that the NFL has an audience of 16.67 million fans per year IN PERSON and then an additional 16 million network viewers EVERY SINGLE GAME for the message, on BEING MORE TOLERABLE OF 13% OF OUR NATIONAL POPULATION, A POPULATION WHICH ONLY EXISTS BECAUSE WE STOLE THEM FROM THEIR OWN CONTINENTS, SHOVED THEM ON WOODEN SHIPS FOR MONTHS, AND THEN WHIPPED THEM INTO SUBMISSION TO DO THINGS LIKE PICKING FUCKING COTTON IN THE SAME LAND YOU NOW PLAY FOOTBALL ON, to potentially reach and resonate with. Somehow, though, the idea that we win more gold medals in a sporting competition is attributable to global success. It preserves the idea that democracy is the best thing in the world. But who are we trying to prove that to–other countries? Or ourselves? 

The same people who howled in delight at Tom Brady and Gronk playing footsie in a kiddie pool, really highlighting their retirement to Florida with their season-starting loss devalued cultural awareness and COULD because as a nation, we set forth this forward public image of how that kind of behavior being socially acceptable and have lost sight of what kind of example we are setting forward for the world. And how do we condemn our international rivals like Russia or China for genocide when our own government is guilty of the same thing? And if we know that countries like Russia are doping and going to continue finding ways to cheat, why are we still trying to race alongside them in these desperate Olympic bids of superiority? That very mentality is what ended in Chernobyl. So why would we ever focus so largely on whether one of their athletes can jump half an inch further than one of ours and why should we set a global precedent that we permit that kind of behavior? Or encourage it? At what point do we as a nation step back and analyze our sports culture and say “this is not the example we want to set for the youth of America or the rest of the world”.

We have IOC rules in place where you could only represent your Country’s Team’s sponsoring brand–even if the brands that sponsor you every other moment leading up to you qualifying for that Olympic team are ethically-sourced, sustainable, local, and way more in need of the exposure than Nike. And the athletes, the source of the exposure for it all, didn’t have a say. Nevermind the greater discussion of what the Olympics represents– friendship, respect, a better world. Channeling global energy into sport, which, again, is supposed to be FOR FUN. Before platforms like instagram, snapchat, only fans, whatever your vice is, the only method for exposure was being photographed and seen. So why have we as a nation, the proponents of a “free world”, consistently silenced that in this modern age of technology and the ability to share your voice? Isn’t that the point of democracy? To share opinion? But who structures where “moderation” lies? Is it the voice of someone who created his image around a sport glorifying gore, encouraging violence and bloodshed for the sake of entertainment? Joe Rogan epitomizes that mentality. He’s been a contributing part of it. 

MMA Is Problematic

As such a ferociously talented athlete across so many different sports, I like to think my opinion that wrestling is far and away the most difficult sport–on par with only gymnastics, for women, holds a bit of weight. I certainly won’t get any refuting from wrestlers. (Although women also wrestle too now, which is pretty freaking cool, and men do gymnastics.) Still, wrestling is one of the oldest forms of combat, existing across the globe regardless of geographical boundary or cultural values, and can even trace its Olympic reign to the ancient Romans and its actual origins being present even in cave drawings. (Anyone else get a sad twinge at the reminder of Jon Snow showing Daenerys proof of the white walkers in Season 7-8 of Game of Thrones, there?) Despite loving to touch on my themes of hating the patriarchy and toxic masculinity, there’s something undeniably MASCULINE about having the physical strength and mental wit to submit your opponent. I should know, because I spent 8 years on-and-off getting physically submitted (oh, so fucking willingly) by the man who very well may be my Achille’s Heel at some point. 

Wrestling is undeniably commanding respect. It has honor.

Mixed Martial Arts, on the other hand, in capitalist America, is anything but. Most of my friends, also in their mid-to-late 20’s, who listen to Joe Rogan, listen as a result of his involvement with Dana White and the UFC. And don’t get me wrong, I think martial arts are cool. I love the intensity with which they are studied, the necessity of mental focus. I hope my next venture in life includes some grappling training, should I find an outlet I actually feel comfortable trying that in. I watched my dad and brother freak out over the Rocky movies as a kid. I just couldn’t really grasp why anyone would opt to get the physical shit beat out of them or why it was glorified. Men are truly interesting creatures.

Now, I’ll give it to you. Is humanity predisposed to be drawn to gore? Is it even possible to thwart human nature into being “good” in any sense? Shouldn’t it be better that we fulfill that need to create havoc, chaos, or war and channel it into sport? 

Hear me out: our goal should be peace. Any sport that requires a level of gore to that extreme is no longer a sport. There is a reason it is called “Cage fighting” and you are no better than those poor dogs the world has seemingly forgotten Michael Vick abused, all because he was decent with a football. The only reason “we” value the level of bloodshed and dehumanization of that as a culture is because we still cling to our patriarchal values blindly. We shouldn’t encourage it…for both medical reasons and psychological. 

Patriarchy in the United States

Because of the American Revolution (1775-1783) and our social distancing from the Kingdom of Great Britain, Americans like to assume the world began in 1776 and anything over a ~100-year-timeline seems out-of-touch, unthinkable, and surely not still happening in the world. Definitely not worth mentioning in the news and any suggestion that we approach things rationally and with logic is met with some bitter disdain from an only-slightly-more-privileged class that would still benefit from all of it. This centric-thought process is a similar fallacy to the first “scientists” (people in modern day who liked to sit around, maybe smoke some weed, and ponder life’s mysteries, not unlike Joe Rogan) who proposed the earth was the center of the universe, or how white Americans can’t seem to grasp that just because they don’t witness something happening personally, doesn’t mean it’s not a completely valid concept. I saw a meme that said something along the lines of “I don’t understand Korean but I still know it’s a legitimate fucking language” and it really resonated. 

To some of you, it may be surprising to hear that I fully 1111111110% support our US military. As much as I disdain the patriarchal cycle of sexism, I appreciate the security of a strong military. I’m not an idiot, I know what horrors of the world are out there. I grew up on army bases, my neighbors were secret service, I had helicopters landing in my apple orchard like it was normal. Sleeping on the floor of the pentagon was a fun “treat”. Despite my daddy issues and still living under the reign of heteronormalcy, I embrace our military whole-heartedly. It keeps us secure, but just as often as we have used it for the “common good” of our civilians, we must also acknowledge the obvious flaws in its historic abuse of human rights. Vietnam was a disaster because our development of Agent Orange skirted the Geneva Convention Guidelines by the premise of being a “defoliant” instead of a “corrosive biochemical warfare”. My grandfather was living proof of that, existing with blood clots on his lungs from inhalation of the noxious fumes. But then the Gulf War happened and the military was in the good graces of the American people once more. Look, I get it. If we don’t fight wars on other people’s lands, then we’re going to have to fight them on our own. 

But MY point is our military has an equally treacherous history of getting involved SOLELY for personal gain, which we will now be answering for DECADES to come because of the generational trauma we’ve instilled upon regions and just “hope” they somehow magically grow up to not hate us over. Sounds like my biological father’s logic to parenting. In the age of technology, this is just not sustainable. We need to acknowledge the results of our actions and cultural values. Prior to the dissemination of information, the military didn’t have to answer for it as much. Which, seems logical, particularly when travel was far less frequent, we didn’t even know if the Earth was round (some of us still don’t, Kyrie Irving. How’s that Duke education working out for ya. #GDTBATH). We can’t just exhaust our own resources at whim and leave ourselves vulnerable, right? So, our military became focused on controlling the narrative. Our media became dramatic, sensationalized fiction, and our presidency has since become reality television instead of actual reality. 

However, our military culture, despite being responsible for the technological boom that it is today via the commissioning of Licklider to develop the internet, thrived off of misinformation and distraction of human attention. Which it did well before technology, as well. In WWII, we had Japanese internment camps, yet slapped an apology on it on the basis of “war hysteria”, $43,000 in today’s money (maybe enough for a down payment on a house?) and tried to move about our days. We’ve long disguised questionable immigration policy as “protecting American workers”, even though we branded our nation under the “Field of Dreams” mentality, yet after building it, now suddenly DON’T want others to come? Not to mention the fact that we had the audacity to “grant” Native Americans citizenship in 1924 as if it was some victory, or as if they weren’t here long before the rest of us were, even though they couldn’t even vote in several states until 1968. Imagine constantly being relocated at the whim of some random person in fancy pilgrim clothes like Cam Newton in his COVID-NFL debut that  was inevitably painful, tragic, and awful, yet somehow THEY were the savages? Fuck this, Pocahontas was absolutely right. We should have a new generation of horror films focusing on the survival or death stories of some of these grievous racial injustice moments throughout US history from the perspective of the hunted. They might exist already. I’m too much of a weenie to watch horror movies alone and I’ve lived alone for ~4 years now, so it’s very possible I’m just out of touch. 

With technology being so closely intertwined with military advancement, suspicious cultural changes have become harder and harder to spin in a positive light. 

World War II had reassured everyone we disagreed with white supremacy, and publicly fought against Nazi values, yet Nazi’s flocked to Charlottesville, Virginia and were welcomed at our current president’s campaigns for re-election. With the 1936 Olympics and Jesse Owens’, the black US track phenomenon, gold medals symbolized that the world disagreed with eugenics. We PUBLICLY disagreed with dehumanizing others from a global perspective, but kept our barriers in place within the bounds of our national lives. 

In between periods of war, Americans were just content enough for the stability, the peace, the consistency, that they didn’t have the energy to question why they kept having it disrupted. The early 1950’s was Korea. The mid-1950’s until the mid-1970’s was marked by Vietnam. Then, the nuclear threat, the Space race, and physics became plastered across newspapers, broadcast even on the novel television! The Soviet Union, the remnants of which are still some of our most flaunted Olympic competitors, were clearly established as a threat to our national security. Total domination over them in whatever ways we could would secure our position within the world. 

The entertainment industry continued to develop, and the 1975 predecessor of UFC emerged with the Rocky film starring Sylvester Stallone as the “All American” symbol of blood, sweat, and tears born in Philadelphia, land of the Liberty bell, in July of 1945. For those who don’t know, Rocky embodied the US resilience of never giving up, overcoming obstacle after obstacle. Over the course of five movies, eventually it was acknowledged that the glorified boxing career and misplaced value on blood, sweat, and tears over physical health, because the reality of what it means to live in a “developed” world means that it should, realistically, NEVER come to resorting to that, resulted in brain damage–the kind “that was normal for boxers”. 

I’m sorry. But What? 

With CTE and criminology discussions involving repeat abusers’ brain development, especially the KNOWN psychological profile that serial killers have often experienced repeat head traumas, why are we encouraging such devastation for the sake of “sport”? I understand needing to be able to defend yourself and training for such adequately– but what are we teaching people if we allow people to be “purchased” for a fight, gambled on, and flaunt that lifestyle as desirable, even when Conor McGregor is in the news for some despicable act. Or when they might literally die on screen, broadcast to millions, including even their children? Don’t even get me started on Jon Jones. The necessity for an easier life and financial security should never be so desirable that you incentivize wanting to inflict brain damage on someone for fun. At least WWE is scripted, fake, and centered around acting. 

But anger is the one emotion that men have universally been allowed to show with a military patriarchal system. 30-40% of police officers were even involved in incidents of domestic violence. My grandfather, a New York City cop, took a strong hand to parenting. My other grandfather, a colonel in the US Army, took an even stronger one. But they had stressors, their jobs were hard, it was always a “mistake” or “justified punishment” and sports let them get out that frustration, that anger, that loss when they had to keep it together every other aspect of the day: set forward that strong example. We just “accept” that men are like that.

So how can we fault them for enjoying endorsing it with addictive behaviors, gambling, fighting, drugs, when there’s nothing wrong with a little indulging from time-to-time? If sports is one of the only major ways the American male has been permitted to show emotion for something without feeling the bounds of public scrutiny for the “vulnerability” of their emotion, how can we condemn the most barbaric, raw, “return to our roots” facade that is the MMA circuits, the NFL, etc when these people are adults willingly entering into these contracts? How many Chris Benoít tragedies is it going to take? How many Aaron Hernandez situations? OJ Simpson? Our love of glorifying the bloodshed that is the UFC, NFL, and professional sports when we reduce it to “just a game” is perpetuated by the leaders of our nations only representing military service values and “don’t ask, don’t tell” style “progressiveness”. God forbid we acknowledge a weakness to the world, even when not doing so actually weakens our citizens.

We need to begin setting a precedent that men do not need to be these macho Arnold Schwarzenegger-style meat heads who insert themselves with relevance into every facet of culture with the misplaced confidence that your opinion must surely be the right one, as white men are prone to do. We need to move away from that method of debate as a nation. We need to remember the collective pause quarantine offered and how, bottom line, promotion of physical and mental health should be a priority. Our sports culture should, logically, serve as a huge database for that. But we are never going to move towards that with a moderator whose cultural fanbase includes a large section of viewers who subscribe to the riches of violence. Of chosen barbary. Nevermind the wives, girlfriends, children, viewers who have to watch your inevitable, and almost assuredly mental spiral and have Stockholm Syndrome into thinking it is “valiant” that the father of their child would put himself in the risk of brain injury for financial luxury. 

But is there even a way to limit violence? How do we know it isn’t inherent to human culture? Even the bible portrays humans as susceptible to sin? 

It isn’t about removing violence altogether. I’m not saying we need to completely disband UFC or stop MMA. 

It’s about removing glorifying bloodshed whenever it isn’t necessary. Of not showcasing that as a possible priority to the American people in a time where unity should be held above all. 

Encouraging violence roots deep with our military pride, though, and existed long before modern gaming systems flooded male feeds. Fun fact: the CIA even delved deep within World of Warcraft at one point. There’s definitely a reason I play Call of Duty, and do everything male-dominated when possible. I learned tactics of how to infiltrate and dismantle from an early age. But gaming systems weren’t making our children more violent. Nor would taking them away solve anything. Our cultural emphasis on military history had already secured that hundreds of years prior and it will continue to exist for generations to come. Yet, we pointed the finger at the technology because holding man accountable is blasphemous. How dare we learn from experience. 

With technology, the dissemination of information, accessibility of global travel, and necessity for action, particularly in light with what we know about global warming, climate change, and environmental values of the importance of conservation, it should be our global priority to promote peace, education, sustainability, and collaboration. We have the accessibility, technology, and education to do it. We need to quit pretending like letting some states live in the modern world and some exist on a Westworld style loop of the nostalgic commodity is permissible. We shouldn’t set a standard of devaluing life at the crossing of our border. We definitely shouldn’t be carrying out forced sterilizations on ICE detainees in the state of Georgia, an act of which is going to be referred to under the context of “genocide” once the inevitable dozens of other whistleblowers step forward into the national spotlight, only to soon dull our senses with overstimulation. That’s the world that making politics a game of chess has become, only highlighted by the proposition of this debate at all. We’ve always fixated the spotlight on the lunacy instead of the bigger picture. 

And the bigger picture is humanity. 

And as humans born within the United States of America, we are thrust into an international political spotlight that was chosen for us due to the nature of our familial history, and just like Kourtney Kardashian, at one point we may have been along for the ride, but we’re now being faced with the necessity of getting the fuck out of the influential mess we’ve created to devote time to what really matters. 

And what really matters is supposed to be love. And empathy. And being able to spend the time not worrying about your physical safety, your mental or physical health, or the thousands of those who you know are going to experience the same level of torment that you’ve experienced. Nobody who has been abused and has actually healed wants someone else to go through what they had to go through. That doesn’t mean forgiveness and complete disregard, either, but it means acceptance.

And as citizens of the USA, we need to start accepting that there are always going to an insurmountable amount of international threats, thanks to DECADES and GENERATIONS of white, conservative colonialism. We legitimately owe it to the world to undeniably encourage peace above all. Which means not acting like the sore fucking loser when our Olympic medal count drops because Lebron and the boys need to stay home and protest in Lafayette Square instead of resuming to their petty games as long as they’re “wearing t-shirts that say the names”. And protests don’t have to be loud. In fact, some of the most prolific moments in history were silent. The Greensboro four were so incredibly effective because they gave absolutely no excuse for their stance to be undermined. 

Do we think we’re going to mend any international relations by condemning all muslims as terrorists? You realize we’ve had about 5 or 6 white domestic terrorist incidences since, including what I would argue is the current state of the presidency because causing now generations of Americans to question science and logic, returning to eugenic-driven values of “Patriotic” education, Uterus collectors in state-sponsored facilities in Georgia pulling women from cages and removing their reproductive rights, is surely going to create a significant amount of broiled hatred within the bounds of our own country. You’d have thought we would’ve learned.

To all of the Christians–Mary and her lil man are knocking at your inn’s doors and you guys are turning her away. She’s gonna have to suffice birthing Jesus in some mangy stable all because you didn’t want to admit we have a “hospitality” problem in this nation structured around our necessity to compete: militarily, economically, athletically, whatever. We have to be the “best”. 

And being good at stuff does breed hatred, so maybe hate for the USA is inevitable. It breeds jealousy, contempt, anger, from those who have less. They don’t see the work that goes in behind the scenes, the practices, the workouts, the sweat, ice baths, lonely cries, wondering if it’s all going to be worth it. But why would we want other countries to suffer in the same way that we did? Why does our corporate strength cry that jobs are being outsourced yet not question why our citizens can’t afford the cost of goods in a way that affords a reasonable living wage for our workers? Why are we accepting that the same sports companies we revere–Nike especially, has exploited fast fashion and sweatshops. Or that Jeff Bezos can exploit the majority of the world and just not give back to it in any proportional rate? It’s 2020. We know that is not acceptable. It’s time to speed it up. 

We’re never going to achieve peace, the ability to rest comfortably for years on end without the looming threat of an ill-conceived draft, if we continue to pretend like the way we’ve treated other nations isn’t criminal. But you don’t get that with a host who paved his way commentating modern day gladiators–the people who have no other focus in life they can possibly see as a more constructive use of their time than wanting to achieve glory just to be a showy celebrity, parading around in their boxers and exposing themselves to unsuspecting women in bars. Or the ones who get pulled over once, twice, THREE TIMES YOU’RE OUT! At the old ball game of the heart of America’s issues, where we tried to pretend like sequestering prostitution and gambling to a cheap, knock-off version of the wonders of the world and selling it as “magical” was going to prevent addictive behaviors from occurring elsewhere in the land. 

The American people aren’t gladiators who chose to step into that ring, getting beaten down into submission, grappled into torment, your stats flashing across the screen, watching compartmentally removed from the violence. 

We need to stop treating their lives like a sport and confront the reality of the world we want to foster. 

Political History within the USA

The Declaration states “All men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness”

Our culture of rights was solidified with extending it to white male property owners, from there on out marking a culture bound by valuing everything at property level, disregarding non-tangible, abstract concepts such as sentiment, intellect, and arbitrary worth. At the time, only 6% of the population was able to vote under these requirements. 

Slaves, or virtually the majority, if not all, of black people, became representative of 3/5ths of a person for HOR representation. And despite the Bill of Rights, 130 years of courts subjectively determining a “person” was still only people with property, or white men, showed that mentality was not a thing of the past, even with their supposed “rights”.  

In 1807, women were specifically excluded from voting through an unconstitutional act, yet the sentiment fell on deaf, all-male ears in court. My own grandfather would continue to embrace that judgment to me, well into the 2000’s. 

The American Civil War of 1861-1865 passed, a war within our own borders, amongst our own citizens, amassing bloodshed of nearly ONE MILLION of our OWN citizens. Our industrialization of war also set the stage for military prowess globally in WWI, WWII, and so on. This war alone is arguably the rock skipping across the pond, the stage 1 of the Butterfly effect, the moment the camera pans out and goes “so you’re probably wondering how I got here” like Emperor Kuzco in the Emperor’s New Groove, sad llama form and all. My great-great-grandfather was a POW and Union general in the Civil War, and our family home in Missouri is apparently a historically preserved landmark now for its use as a hospital during the war.

…I’ll admit, I breathed a sigh of relief that I wasn’t on the “other” side. 

Let’s not forget Susan B. Anthony used this time to once again, point out the hypocrisy of the Equal Protection Clause not being inclusive of women.

1920’s, came and went. White women could vote. Finally! My people!

Susan B. Anthony still could not. 

1964 accompanied the Civil Rights Act, so black people could finally vote without restriction. Do we think people magically changed their opinions, though? No.

2008 marked the first African-American president, and we’ve yet to see a female leader. 

In fact, our closest chance to a female leader, an undeniable symbol of feminism for generations of future women in the United States for hundreds of years to come, was Hilary Clinton. It was a joke. Laughable at best. The Democratic Party threw up their “next in line”, someone they thought would be a symbol of the “puritan work ethic”, and women were met with a symbol of complicitness in an era of #MeToo, where silence is not enough. We were taunted with the choice of a woman who publicly humiliated another young woman on national television who was in a submissive position to HER HUSBAND, the PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES, to set the example for generations of young women in the USA? You have got to be kidding me. 

Nevermind the fact that she remained married to the man, throughout her campaign on “feminism”, and remains married to this day. (Though I operate under the assumption that she doesn’t want to have to testify or reveal any secrets about their marriage and it’s far too complicated to ever unweave at this point). Also, I’m an open marriage kind of gal, I can even be persuaded to see growth and forgiveness after cheating, (namely because I think people are inherently selfish in this day and age) but a large issue with our culture is our politician’s inability to be more transparent about their ACTUAL perceptions. That political guy in Florida found in the hotel room with that male stripper who OD’ed checked himself into rehab instead of highlighting the Miami LGBTQ community’s struggle with HIV/AIDS and proper use of PrEP, or the commonality of the swinger lifestyle. But no, we had a woman who still publicly stood by her husband after running on a platform ALMOST SOLELY ON IT BEING “TIME” FOR A WOMAN. This is like, how obnoxious it is when every single “girl power” movie has to go out of its way to stress the “girl power” theme. If you have to assert your dominance, you probably don’t have any. You can’t endorse girl power and womanhood but not publicly address the concern over setting an example to young women that staying with a cheater is okay, or that you shouldn’t have further contributed to this woman-hating narrative, fuck the culture. The introductory 3 blog posts that spiral into my Ghislaine Maxwell/Jeffrey Epstein rabbit hole of a childhood should explain exactly why I hate her so much. My logic at the time kept weighing “I can deal with another shitty white male, but I can’t have the first female president be this” with “what could possibly actually happen in just four years”. Even with all of those heavy considerations, I could not have imagined the breakdown of our democracy into our current situation. I thought it was insane that my sociology professor cried and talked about creating a “safe space” in her office for anyone who was uncomfortable. Yet, four years later, I’m still like, “THESE are our choices?! THESE? What the actual fuck.”

And the political history in the United States, that Constitution that people who still support Donald Trump and the GOP love to wave as a “perfect set of guidelines” on the basis of their religious values are completely ignoring the fact that those same political idols of theirs wanted the separation of church and state. Which means not voting on the basis of religion. Yet, our political history is still undeniably warped by white, conservative, Christian values–a fact we can ALL admit just by objectively looking at the legislative development of the United States code of conduct for not being shitty human beings in 2020. 

And that “if you have to TELL someone you’re in power, you probably aren’t”? That’s how I feel about “religion” as a whole. You lost me for good when you were overjoyed by Justin Bieber endorsing a Megachurch pastor wearing $3,000 Yeezy’s in the state of Texas, even though that same church is pro-life, despite science PROVING that pro-life legislation increases the rates of infant and maternal mortality and you also claim to care about saving babies. I’m sorry, but no. The “Republican” political party has become hypocritical at its heart. Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s body isn’t even cold and yet the Grade-A Certified Cunt, and NOT the Wet ass pussy Cardi B/Megan Thee Stallion goddess kind, that is Mitch McConnell wants to vote her successor in despite that same logic being presented to him as why a similar vote was postponed until the 2016 election was complete.

So I struggle, because 65% of our total population is still willing to believe the word of a book because they believe in the spirituality of “goodness” on faith alone, but won’t believe scientific fact on systemic cultural issues rooted in the foundations of our society, so when the opportunity to actually vote for “goodness” and programs that promote a more sustainable earth, a better community, properly coordinated healthcare, is presented to them, they make up some excuse as to why they prefer it to be the “individual’s choice”, even though there’s 200+ years of research as to why that does not work in just our country and THOUSANDS of years of research for why this doesn’t work in civilizations across the globe. The only reason we even have foundations like the EPA is because we had to FORCE chemical industries in Toms River, New Jersey to stop purposefully disposing of hazardous waste improperly, allowing it to seep into the watershed and cause a significantly higher incidence of childhood cancer. But with “small government”, the EPA wouldn’t exist. Do you actually want to save the children? Assuming the world is good is a naive way of thinking that is just harmful to those of us who had to learn that the hard way. The Catholic Church sector of Christianity couldn’t even save their own children. In fact, they were shielding the abusers from punishment because they were worried about the PR on the faith. That’s not appropriate.

Additionally, if you are voting in an election, not even for YOUR OWN RIGHTS, but for your ability to have control over someone ELSE’S rights, you’re no longer voting for “individual” choice, you’re voting for control over someone else, call it what it is. But that’s hard with a religion that stresses the importance of the individual, because it really is true that in an emergency situation, you can only be helpful if you take care of yourself first. (The old “oxygen mask on an airliner” analogy.) Still, we need to recognize the necessity to employ other people with the tools to make decisions over themselves. We can’t leave things like mental and physical healthcare, protection from the law (which, also, is supposed to HELP us, the law is literally supposed to PROTECT citizens… we shouldn’t need protection from it), the ability to afford housing, up to “faith”, because this is reality, not some idealistic delusion. And unlike delusion, in reality, we have the ability to change it, but we first have to accept it. 

Despite other countries with impressive quality of life, longevity, and distribution of health indicators existing, we refuse to acknowledge our own system needs to be revitalized because we’re scared to admit that we were wrong. But isn’t religion based around forgiveness, and acceptance, and learning as you grow? You constantly revisit the same text and get new context from it, so shouldn’t we normalize the same thing with society? The fact that Megan Rapinoe, a KNOWN LESBIAN, would receive any kind of backlash for using her position to highlight the reality of the LGBTQ+ population is ridiculous and the fact that our media would glorify that, encourage the divisiveness, and for this to be “normal” is just pathetic. We can’t keep claiming to be so advanced as a civilization when we only legalized gay marriage federally in 2015!

But 65% of the population is centered around Christian values, and that may seem like a lot–it’s certainly still the majority, so why should we change that at all? Let’s think about what that means in other terms. It means that out of every 5 Americans, roughly 2 of those are going to NOT be that way. They’re going to have different values. Does this mean they are terrible people? Fuck no. Objectively looking at all of the religions around the globe, there are a lot of fucking similarities. Concepts of a higher power only differ in WHO or WHAT that higher power is. Themes of morality, righteousness, being the best version of a human tend to involve similar themes. (I personally don’t feel the necessity to characterize what I think influences the universe. I accept that as a human, I don’t need to know all. Ignorance truly is bliss. I’ve had near death experiences, and there was just peace, acceptance, contentment.) For the life of me, though, I cannot grasp the necessity to feel as if you have to prove to others that what you believe in, which is FOUNDED ON FAITH AND FAITH ALONE (AKA THERE IS NO TANGIBLE PROOF YOU CAN SHOW THEM) “MUST” be the right way. The point is, we should still include those 2 people in things that we do. I’m sure they have a lot to offer. The purpose of the USA being the “best” is that we get to cherry-pick our favorite aspects of other cultures and bring them here to exist in one place in unity. Didn’t any of you watch Zootopia? 

So I guess my argument isn’t so much about just Joe Rogan, or what he represents as an individual. Truth be told, I recognize his comedic worth. I listen intermittently (shout out to Miley for being the bad bitch who can always put someone in their place, you are my idol), but the very fact that he even thinks the general public should want him to moderate a presidential debate under the current state of our country, with what may be one of the most important elections for a global stage of symbolizing what kind of progression we’re going to move forward with (or should I say, backward, because if Trump wins, I am seriously considering seeking asylum overseas, purely for mental health and peace of mind, because I cannot live in whatever Nazi Germany style regime he wants to reinvent) is a travesty. 

Sports have historically paralleled our international relations and cultural movements within our own country. Black men could represent the USA globally before they could even vote. You realize how fucked up that is? Right? Jesse Owens was a symbol of defiance to Adolf Hitler yet would’ve been lynched had he not had his gold medal with him walking through some towns in Alabama. We boycotted the 1980 Summer Olympics to protest Soviet invasion of Afghanistan, yet 31 years later started the “War on Terror”. 

And we do set a global precedence for acceptable behavior. The world does watch us. So no, we don’t need Joe Rogan to debate Joe Biden and Donald Trump like we should further encourage our presidential elections to resemble some mockery that is ESPN’s The Ocho instead of discouraging the circus that has been allowed to perform long enough. We shouldn’t have to debate the topics that will inevitably be discussed: whether black lives matter, is it humane to perform significant surgical operations on prisoners against their will if it removes their ability to propagate or remain in this country, whether we should be protecting consumers, addressing climate change.

This is not the world we want to encourage. 

This election isn’t about a candidate. It’s about our values for humanity. 

SOURCES:


(Do I have to actually publish these in proper APA or MLA citation on a blog? Here’s the links)

https://money.cnn.com/2018/05/18/news/nfl-nba-mlb-owners-diversity/index.html

https://www.penn.museum/sites/olympics/olympicorigins.shtml

https://www.cnbc.com/2019/12/31/nfl-television-viewership-increases-5percent-for-2019-season.html

https://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/158-resources-understanding-systemic-racism-america-180975029/

https://theundefeated.com/features/athletes-and-activism-the-long-defiant-history-of-sports-protests/

https://www.houstonchronicle.com/news/houston-texas/houston/article/Texas-pregnancy-related-death-rate-among-15017414.php

https://www.pewforum.org/2009/09/09/muslims-widely-seen-as-facing-discrimination3-2/

https://ehne.fr/en/article/gender-and-europe/gendered-body-expression-european-identity/women-and-olympic-games

https://www.history.com/news/who-invented-baseball

https://bleacherreport.com/articles/446420-ten-athletes-who-made-major-political-and-social-statements

https://money.cnn.com/2018/05/18/news/nfl-nba-mlb-owners-diversity/index.html

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/American_Civil_War

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/National_Football_League

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Human_rights_in_the_United_States

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/World_War_I

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Native_Americans_in_the_United_States

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/American_Revolutionary_War

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Joe_Rogan_Experience

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Colin_Kaepernick